


that suits/hp au from 2012

by pipisafoat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Crossover, Extreme Magical Powers, Gen, Magic, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 16:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13415601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat
Summary: Back in 2012, I got this fun idea of a tiny Mike being escorted through Diagon Alley by an equally tiny Filius Flitwick. I also was in love with a Harvey/Mike in which Mike has synesthesia, and I had another fun idea of his synesthesia actually being an ability to see magic. The only choice was to start writing an AU, even knowing it was incredibly unlikely I'd ever finish it. ALL SUITS CANON IS AS OF 2012 and therefore even more AU than you might expect.This is ABANDONED and INCOMPLETE - please feel free to skip over it if that's not your thing & also feel free to write more of it!





	1. 0 year - before starting Hogwarts

He'll learn the truth later, but his grandmother took him to Muggle doctors, growing up. She had no more idea than her grandson that his condition was no neurological malfunction. Most kids manifest magic by blowing something up or summoning a toy, but Mike has never been average.

So he sees a pediatrician, and he sees a psychiatrist, and he sees a neurologist, and sooner or later he walks away with a diagnosis, a label slapped on his brain. Synesthete, it says, and nobody ever talks about the fact that he only sees the colors some places, with some people.

* * *

_Sunday, 17 July 2011_

Mike jumps up when the doorbell rings. "I'll get it, Gram!" he calls even as he's halfway out of the kitchen. He pulls the door open as far as the chain allows and smiles politely to the stranger on the other side. "Good afternoon."

The woman smiles at him. "Good afternoon. Are you Michael Ross?"

He nods. "Can I help you?"

The woman's smile widens. "My name is Minerva McGonagall, Mr Ross. I'm the headmistress of a special school. Are your parents home? I'd like to talk to them about the school."

Mike frowns. "I don't have parents anymore, but Gram's here. Let me go get her." He waits for the woman's nod before shutting the door carefully and running back into the kitchen to explain the situation his grandmother. She asks him to get tea together while she lets the professor in.

Their quiet conversation stops when he brings in the tea tray, so he leans in close to his grandmother. "I can see her colors, too," Mike says quietly, but the professor's head turns towards them, and he looks back down at the tea service.

"He has synesthesia," she explains to their visitor, and the women share a long glance before Gram continues. "It means he sometimes sees tracks of color as someone talks or moves."

The professor nods slowly. "Hogwarts is well equipped to accommodate any unusual needs our students have. I will need to discuss specifics with you."

Gram looks relieved when the oven timer goes off. "Let me just get that. Why don't you show him the letter?" The paper is thick, and he unfolds it carefully.

> **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
>  Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall**  
> (Order of Merlin, First Class)
> 
> Dear Mr Ross,
> 
> We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
> 
> Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
> 
> Yours sincerely,  
> Filius Flitwick  
> Deputy Headmaster

"Witchcraft and wizardry?" Mike repeats, incredulous, and the headmistress nods with a small smile playing on her lips.

"Magic, Mr Ross. You're a wizard, and this school can help you learn how to control your magic."

"Michael," Gram calls from the kitchen, and Mike excuses himself to find his grandmother wrapping a warm chocolate cake, a small frown evident on her face. "Would you deliver this while I speak with the professor, please?"

Mike takes the cake next door to Mrs Evans and stays just for a few minutes to play with Trevor, and when he returns, his grandmother looks just a little bit happier.

"Mr. Ross," the professor says, then hesitates. "There's a strong chance that part of your synesthesia is actually a form of magic. It's possible you have the rare ability to see magic. I'd like to demonstrate a few spells to find out for sure."

"But I can see Gram's colors, and sometimes I see Mr. Vente's colors." Mike looks down at the professor's curious glance. "He works at the library."

The professor hesitates. "That is unusual, but most Muggles have a small amount of magic, even if they can't use it. You go to the library quite a bit, your grandmother says?" She smiles when Mike nods. "You would be more sensitized to the trace magic in those Muggles you spend the most time with, if my theory is correct."

"Okay," he agrees. "So you do your spells, and if I can see them, I'm not a synesthete?"

She smiles at him and pulls out a thin stick. "That's the general idea. Wingardium Leviosa!"

Mike gasps loudly. "It's pink!" At the encouraging look from the professor, he elaborates. "It's a bright pink, um, smoky line. From the table up to the bottom of the vase, like it's holding it there."

The vase settles gently back on the mantle. "In time, you'll learn how to identify spells by their colors. It's a rare gift, Mr. Ross, but I do know one other mage who might be willing to help you learn. I'll give you time to settle in at school and think about it before we owl her. However, thinking about the school, I think it's best if you visit it for a while in the summer, before classes start. There's a lot of latent magic; you'll need the time to get used to seeing it before we ask you to concentrate on classes."

* * *

_Monday, 18 July 2011_

"Wow wow wow wow WOW!"

Professor McGonagall smiles indulgently down at Mike as he picks up the Frisbee and turns it over, studying it from every angle. "That's called a Portkey."

"Wow," he repeats, shifting his grip before glancing up at her. "Since the spell's gone, can I throw it?"

The smile widens. "You may keep it, if you'd like, but don't leave it outside. Unicorns will eat anything."

He laughs and tosses the Frisbee, chasing after it down the path and waiting for the professor to catch up to him. "What's this?"

She glances down at the object in his hand. "A rock?"

"It has a spell on it. Why is there a spell on a rock?"

McGonagall frowns and takes the rock from him, studying it. "It could be a shrinking charm or a transfiguration. We can find out in the castle, if you'd like."

"Castle!" Mike tosses his Frisbee again and chases it further down the path, crouching down to study the plants as he waits for the professor again. "I don't recognize some of these plants."

"Many magical plants only grow in the presence of magic; the school has several successful greenhouses because of the amount of magic present on the grounds."

"Are we on the grounds then?" Mike gasps as they round a bend in the path. "Okay, never mind, I think we must be."

"Afternoon, Headmistress."

"Good afternoon, Hagrid."

Mike stares up at the huge man. "Are you a giant? Are giants real? Are you a real giant?"

"Half-giant," Hagrid replies, smiling down at him. "Are you a new student?"

"Yep! I'm Mike. I'm not a giant. I guess you know that, though."

Professor McGonagall laughs and rests a hands on his shoulder. "It is rather obvious, Michael. This is Professor Hagrid. He teaches Care of Magical Creatures and looks after the grounds for us."

"Cool!" Mike briefly considers offering his hand for a high five, but then he notices the half-giant's hands are easily the size of his head. "I guess I'll see you in class, Professor Hagrid!"

"Not for a couple of years," McGonagall corrects. "His class is only open to third-years and above."

"Then I'll see you in two years!" He grins up at the huge man, who returns the expression.

"That's my hut," he says, pointing down the hill. "Feel free to visit before then. Now, I'd best be off; Rosmerta's asked me to see to a patch of bundimuns outside the Three Broomsticks."

"What are bundimuns?" Mike asks, and Hagrid laughs and pats him thunderously on the head before leaving them. "What are they?" he directs to the headmistress instead.

"I'll let you find that out on your own," she answers, handing him a small piece of parchment that reads Summer Library Pass: Michael Ross.

He takes off down the path again as she starts walking. "Are there other students here in the summer? Do you ever have classes in the summer? How many students come to Hogwarts? Why is it named that, anyway? Has anyone ever suggested changing the name?" The barrage of questions continues, met only with the same indulgent smile until he suddenly cuts himself off in the middle of Why is the school in a castle?

"Wow wow wow wow WOW!"

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Mr Ross," the headmistress says mildly as she pushes the castle door shut behind them.

He thinks she keeps talking, but he's caught up in the wonderful colors of it all and can't spare any of his attention for her. There are pink streams from ceilings to floating chandeliers, fluffy turqouise layers wrapped around banisters, blue lines sliding over paintings one by one, and threads of green woven over every wall. Mike turns in a slow circle to take everything in, fully aware that his mouth is hanging open. He heads to the nearest wall and stares at the pattern of green, surprised to find that even these woven threads are moving. Different shades of green writhe around each other, trace the spaces between stones, and pass under the numerous picture frames.

Mike spins back towards the headmistress when he realizes he's been staring at what must be a blank spot on a stone wall for several minutes. "Um. Wow."

McGonagall smiles at him. "While that is a usual reaction, most students aren't gazing at the walls when they say it."

"There are so many spells on the walls, though!" he explains. "They're all different, but they're all related. What do they do?"

"Most of our wards are protective. They prevent damage to the castle as well as to its inhabitants. Professor Flitwick knows quite a bit about the wards; I'm sure he'd be happy to explain them to you."

"Who's Professor Flitwick?"

A small sigh to his left surprises Mike, and he turns to see a very small man standing in the room.

"Oh! Hello! I guess you're Professor Flitwick?"

The man nods sharply. "I teach Charms. My niece is also a mage, so I'm to be your guide and tutor this summer. Depending on the results of our work together, she may join us later in the year."

"Nice to meet you!" Mike bites back his impulse to say that he'd love see Flitwick standing next to Hagrid and instead just flashes a grin at the short man. "Is the mage-sight common?"

"Not at all. She's the only other true mage we're aware of, besides a man older than I am who lives in China. I do know some wizards with talents similar to magery, but it's not the same."

"The castle is so colorful," Mike says, cringing internally at the abrupt subject change. "Or, um, I guess the castle itself isn't, but the magic in it is. There's so much magic! How can you get anything done around here with all the magic?"

Flitwick smiles. "Teaching you to do exactly that is the purpose of this visit, is it not?"

* * *

_Monday, 25 July 2011_

Diagon Alley is a hotbed of magical activity, even worse than Hogwarts. Mike's headache is already making itself known when Professor Flitwick pushes open the door to a small, dingy looking shop. _Ollivander's Wand Shop_ is scrawled on the sign over the door, and Mike tries to brace himself as he steps through the heavy green wards and into the shop.

None of the wands are putting out colors, though, and Mike sighs in relief when the only spells he sees are what must be an alarm, trailing from the door to a point somewhere in the back of the store, and a puff of silver smoke rising from the opposite corner of the store.

"Filius," an old man says, sliding into view onto a ladder. Mike's a little bit surprised not to see any traces of magic propelling the ladder across its tracks, but he's distracted from that thought as the man dismounts and stares down at the professor. "I told you last year: I won't deal without their parents present."

Flitwick nods once. "This is Mike Ross. He lives with his grandmother, who is unable to accompany him to Diagon Alley. I have a letter of permission, if--"

The man snatches the stationary out of Flitwick's hand and flicks his eyes over it rapidly. "Michael James Ross," he says slowly, lifting his gaze to Mike's. "Very well. Try this one."

Mike takes the offered wand, but it immediately feels wrong, somehow. He sets it gently on the counter in front of him.

"Give it a wave, Mr Ross."

He shakes his head. "It's not right. I can't use that."

A slow smile spreads across the man's face. "A mere child, telling the most famous wandmaker in all of Britain that he's wrong about a wand."

Mike shrugs. "Are you Mr Ollivander? And I didn't say you're wrong. I just said that wand won't work with me." He eyes the old man, who nods. "What's in the wand?"

Ollivander taps a finger on the side of his nose. "Phoenix feather core. Never works for mages. Keep that in mind if you're ever in the market for an ostentatious familiar; phoenixes won't like you. Perhaps unicorn hair is more your style." He pulls a box from behind him without looking and thrusts it at Mike.

The wand doesn't feel immediately wrong, and Mike waves it cautiously. An ugly brown stream floods from the tip, exploding two vases. Flitwick squeaks and waves his own wand, repairing the vases immediately. "Garrick!"

Ollivander waves a dismissing hand at the professor. "Interesting. Very interesting. No mind, perhaps a different unicorn."

"Does that make a difference?"

The wandmaker frowns down at Mike. "Quite a large difference. Even the same unicorn's hair, plucked at a different time in his life, can perform very differently. This unicorn is known for donating hairs destined for those with rare talents, but that doesn't mean everyone with those talents is matched with one of his wands. Perhaps a new donor?"

Mike waves the wand, and the same two vases explode. Flitwick squeaks and repairs them again, and Mike ducks his head as he replaces the wand in its box. Ollivander hands wand after wand to Mike, Mike explodes the same vases over and over, and Flitwick eventually stops squeaking with his hasty repairs.

Ollivander stops eventually, staring down at Mike. "It seems you are not intended for the hair of any unicorn."

"Sorry?" Mike offers hesitantly.

"No matter." The old man holds a hand up, and Mike is shocked to see a wand zoom into it without any sign of magic. The wand waves, sending the towering pile of rejected wands back onto their shelves, and Mike frowns when that spell is a light blue color. "Perhaps dragon heartstring won't be a complete disaster."

"Disaster?" Mike's frown deepens. "Um...."

Ollivander's dismissive wave does not reassure him in the slightest. "We'll start with--" The man glares at a wand on the counter. "No." The wand disappears with a faint popping sound, and Ollivander summons a small pile of new wands. "Try these first."

None of the new wands explode anything, but they are all extremely sluggish. Mike can only force magic out of them with great effort. Ollivander frowns as he reshelves their boxes, and the earlier wand pops back onto the desk.

"No."

Mike stares as the wand pops away again, leaving behind only a faint puff of silver smoke. "Mr Ollivander?"

"There's a stream deep under the ground, back there." A gnarled finger points vaguely over his shoulder, and Mike glances back to see the same smoke he'd noticed when they first came in. "Most of the hazels don't react to it until they've chosen their wizard, but that wand has always been excitable. Never mind it. Perhaps an older dragon core."

"Is it normal for wands to move around on their own, without magic?"

Ollivander stares at him silently for a long moment before repeating, "That wand has always been excitable."

"But earlier, yours--"

"Hornbeam. That wood mates strongly with its wizard, and I have had my wand for a very long time. It is not unheard of for it to return to my hand without a spell. It's a different kind of magic." The man studies Mike's face again. "I should like very much to discuss this with you after you complete your Hogwarts education. Until then, could we return to the business of finding you a wand?"

Mike ducks his head again. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

Another pile of reluctant dragon heartstring wands grows steadily, and the excitable wand continues to pop onto the counter, only to disappear again at Ollivander's quick refusal of it. At the next pause in wand waving, Mike brings it up again.

"That wand, sir, the excitable one? Why do you keep sending it away?"

The old man huffs loudly. "It has a substandard core. I only make and sell wands of the highest quality; the older wands are not for sale until every other wand in the shop has rejected the wizard."

"Seems like we're well on our way to that goal," Mike mutters, glancing towards Flitwick, napping in a chair by the door.

"We have not yet reached it."

The wand pops back onto the counter, and Mike's hand darts out before Ollivander can send it away again. His fingers wrap around the wood, and he smiles at the feeling of comfort that spreads through him. "It likes me."

"Obviously." Ollivander huffs again. "Since you've picked it up, you'd better give it a wave, or it'll just follow you out the door once you find a proper wand."

Mike grins and waves it towards the sleeping professor. Blue and silver sparks shoot towards the diminutive man, exploding loudly near his head. Flitwick startles awake, drawing his own wand with surprising speed and looking around in a panic before his eyes settle on Mike.

"It likes me," Mike explains hastily. "And, um, I guess it thought you shouldn't be asleep."

Flitwick seems torn between an amused smile and a disapproving frown. "You've found your wand, then?"

Ollivander glares at both of them before sending the pile of dragon heartstring wands back onto the shelves. "So it would seem, reluctant though I am to sell it."

"One of your father's, then?" Flitwick's expression is definitely one of amusement now.

"Hazel and diricawl feather, ten inches, rather springier than you might expect. Stay in that wand's good graces, boy; I don't want it appearing back in my shop because you've upset it."

Mike suppresses his giggle and nods as solemnly as he can manage.

* * *

"Gram said I could get an owl if I want one. I saw one bringing you a letter last week; can I train my owl to do that if I get one?"

Flitwick smiles at him. "All the owls at Eeylops are already trained to carry mail. The school has several owls, but many students still prefer to have their own."

"Can we get my owl now?"

The professor shifts his bag to his other shoulder and nods. "We've gotten everything else. You'll have to get a small owl, though."

"But what if I need to send a big package to Gram?"

"Small mail owls can carry more than you think, but you can still use one of the school owls."

Mike looks unconvinced. "I wouldn't want my owl to think that I didn't like it if I used a bigger owl. Can they work together to carry something? Or I guess I could send my owl with a letter and a school owl with a package."

"I'm sure that would work." Flitwick pats him on the shoulder and points down the street. "Eeylops Owl Emporium."

"Why a small owl?" Mike asks as he trots towards the indicated store.

Flitwick coughs, or maybe it's a stifled laugh. "Well, owls fly. They don't particularly enjoy their cages being levitated down the street. And, well, we're both too short for a very large cage, especially with all these other bags."

Mike definitely laughs as he pushes open the shop door, but it's cut short when a small owl swoops down and lands on his outstretched forearm. "Um, hi," he says to the bird, freezing in place with the door still held open. "Can I, I mean, are you going to poop on me if I move?"

The owl stares at Mike and hops sideways along his arm, closer to his elbow.

"Okay, I'll take that as a no. And I guess if you do, Professor Flitwick might be nice enough to clean up the mess." He uses his other hand to hold the door open for the professor as he slowly pulls his arm back towards his side, carefully keeping the owl level. "Do you belong to somebody?"

The owl tucks its head under a wing and doesn't answer. Flitwick replies for it, clearly suppressing amusement in his voice. "The tag on his foot means that he's for sale. And in your price range."

Mike examines the tag. "How do you know it's a boy?"

The owl's head pops back out with an indignant hoot.

"I'm sorry!" Mike exclaims quickly. "I don't know how to check owl sex! It's not something that's ever come up in my reading! Now, if you were a lizard..." He trails off at the hard stare the bird is giving him. "Not that I want a lizard. I am much happier with an owl. You are way cooler than a lizard."

The owl shakes his feathers, looking satisfied.

"Did you just choose me? Professor, did he just choose me? Is this my owl? Is he going to follow me home and poop on my head if I don't buy him?"

Flitwick lets out an obvious snort of laughter. "I don't believe he would do that, but he does seem rather attached to you."

"Okay. Owl ... what's your name?" The owl hoots, and Mike frowns. "I don't actually speak owl, but that kinda sounded like Ook to me. Is your name Ook?" The owl hops closer to Mike's elbow once more, and he smiles. "Hi, Ook. Listen, if I had to send Gram a big package that you couldn't carry, would you get mad if I let a school owl take it for me?"

Ook pecks his arm, hard.

"What if a school owl took the package, but you carried a letter? Because letters are more important. Without letters, you don't know anything about the package, and Gram doesn't open mail if she doesn't know who it's from. The school owl and its package would be useless without you and your letter."

The owl stares at him for a long moment before tucking his head back under his wing.

"I think I have an owl, Professor."

* * *

_Monday, 15 August 2011_

"I'd like to bring the rest of the staff in," Flitwick says unexpectedly when Mike's down to only two more visits to the castle before terms starts. "You've gotten much better at focusing on your own magic instead of the wards, but when your classmates are here, they'll each be casting spells at the same time as you. If the staff can simulate that environment...."

Mike frowns. "I thought we were trying to keep this a secret."

"Your professors are all very intelligent. They will learn quickly that something is different about your talents. Introducing it early at least gives them time to adjust to the knowledge before--"

"Filius."

They both turn towards the door, where Professor McGonagall stands, frowning.

"Yes, Minerva?"

"The rest of staff is unaware of Michael's repeated visits; we will not be telling them any of his secrets. However, I will be glad to cast several spells to give Mr Ross a taste of what classes will be like."

* * *

_Monday, 29 August 2011_

Mike sits on the desk beside Professor Flitwick and smiles at the man. "Thank you for working with me all summer," he says quietly.

"Believe me, it was not a hardship. You have quite a bit of skill and the determination to back it up. I look forward to having you in my classes next week."

He grins. "Me too, Professor. Are we going to pretend we don't know each other?"

Flitwick frowns for a moment. "It might be easier to say that I went on your home visit. We won't mention that you were here, but I do a few Muggleborn visits each year."

"Okay." Mike's grin broadens. "I can't wait to see Hogwarts at night. That's going to be so cool. And the Sorting!"

"A part of me hopes you'll be in Ravenclaw - I'm Head of that House - but I hope you know I'll be available for any questions or additional tutoring you might need regardless of your Sorting."

"Yep!" Mike hesitates, then reaches out and hugs the short man gently. "Thank you, Professor."

Flitwick startles, but he returns the hug quickly. "You're quite welcome, Mike."


	2. 1st year

_Thursday, 1 September 2011_

"They look like wizards, don't they?" Gram asks, and Mike groans.

"Gram!"

She shrugs unapologetically. "I'd just rather you went through with someone who knows what they're doing."

"Professor Flitwick told me all about the platform last week, and I can see it anyway. Come on!"

She resists his tugging hand. "Let's see if they'll take you. Excuse me, sir?"

The tall man turns towards them. "Yes?"

"My grandson here is starting at, um, the school this year, and...."

He smiles kindly down at Mike. "Congratulations, young man. I suppose you're looking for the platform?"

"Professor Flitwick told me about it," Mike answers, trying hard to keep the whine out of his voice. "But Gram won't go with me, and she doesn't want me to go alone, and--"

"Michael."

He frowns. "Sorry, Gram."

The tall man sets a hand on the shoulder of a girl standing just behind him. She spins with a start, then smiles at Mike. "This is my daughter, Rachel. She'll be a first-year as well. And I'm Robert Zane. Good to meet you, Michael."

"Mike, please."

The girl sticks her hand out. "Hi, Mike."

"Hi, Rachel." He shakes her hand as his grandmother introduces herself to Robert. "Did your parents go to Hogwarts?"

She shakes her head. "Dad went to Durmstrang. That's another wizarding school, on the continent. I can tell you about it later, if you want."

Mike grins at her. "That'd be awesome!"

They look up at the adults, who seem to have finished their own short conversation as well. "Mr Zane is going to help you get to the platform and on the train, Mike," Gram tells him, and the steel in her voice reminds him not to question her decision not to accompany him past the main train station. "Make sure you write me this weekend and tell me all about your new school."

He wraps his arms tightly around her. "You know I will." He pulls back just enough to look closely at her face. "You promise you'll be okay without me?"

"I'll be fine. Have fun, and listen to Mr Zane." She smiles and pulls him into one last hug before sending him off with his new friend.

* * *

His summer visits were carefully planned not to allow him this view of the castle, and he gasps along with everyone else in his boat. "It's beautiful," Rachel whispers, and Mike nods in mute wonder along with her. Some of the other boats are full of chatter, but his companions stay quiet all the way across the lake and into the castle.

Professor Flitwick studiously ignores Mike, but when the ghosts float through the chamber the first years are occupying, the Fat Friar winks at him. The Grey Lady smiles at him, then makes sure to smile at several other random students as well. Mike looks down at the floor to keep from returning their greetings, and Rachel nudges him with an elbow. "Hey, they're not going to hurt you or anything."

He smiles at her, feeling oddly grateful to be taken for afraid. "Yeah, I mean, they're in the school, right? Professor McGonagall wouldn't let us get hurt."

"Not on purpose," she agrees. "Besides, other than poltergeists, ghosts are fine."

Mike starts to reply - something along the lines of Duh, I can read, only somehow more polite - but Professor Flitwick waves his wand, banging the doors of the chamber open to herd them into the Great Hall and wait for their names to be called. Mike shifts restlessly through the bulk of the students, sharing a sympathetic look with Rachel, who is certainly at the end of the alphabetized list. Rankin, Danielle is sent to Ravenclaw, and then it's his turn to sit on the unstable stool and let a too-large hat cover his eyes.

"Muggleborn," the hat says, and Mike bristles. "Oh, calm down, it's just an observation. I'm far more interested in your mage talents. That's usually a strong indicator of Ravenclaw - especially with your memory! - but I rather think not, in your case. Before I sort you, though, you promise me something." The hat pauses dramatically. "I expect to hear from you regularly. Not just while you're in school, either."

Mike nods in agreement, unwilling to talk aloud to a hat in the middle of a crowded room.

"Good. In that case, **Hufflepuff!** "

Mike carefully removes the hat from his head before bounding off to the appropriate table. His new housemates greet him warmly, and they settle in to watch the tail end of the Sorting. No more Hufflepuffs are added to their ranks, but Rachel gets sent to Ravenclaw. He smiles when she glances at him on her way to her table, making a mental note to keep in touch with her. He's heard Ravenclaws are smart, after all, and it never hurts to have a friend in another house.

They have a few days to settle in and figure out the castle before classes start, so Mike agrees easily to wandering the halls with his dorm-mates the next day. He's surprised to be met by an older boy wearing a green and silver tie outside the Transfiguration classroom.

"Mike Ross?"

Mike's companions take a step back, and the boy rolls his eyes.

"Whatever you've heard about Slytherins, we're not really into eating first-years. Ross, I'm your assigned mentor for the year. Let's go."

"No," Mike replies, and his housemates stare at him. "I'll meet you after dinner if you like, but I'm busy now."

The boy looks him over slowly, without expression. "I'll be in the library at 7, if you think you can find it."

* * *

_Friday, 2 September 2011_

"Rule one - be on time," the Slytherin says without looking up from his book.

"I was," Mike argues, "but you were _hiding_ back here! And I tried to ask Madam Pince, but I don't even know your name, so I just got glared at. Thanks for that, by the way. Of all the people to irritate on my first day, the librarian!" 

"Rule two - don't speak to me."

Mike drops into the armchair next to his mentor and props his feet up on the coffee table. "Do you play?"

The boy grunts from behind his book. "Play what?"

"Quidditch. I mean, since you're reading a book about it, I just wondered if you were on the Slytherin team."

The boy closes his book and looks startled to see _Seeker Strategies_ on the front cover. "Reserve Keeper," he answers, "and my name is Harvey. Third year Slytherin, better than you at everything, and not interested in answering your stupid questions, so don't even bother coming to me when you're confused."

Mike blinks. "You're a shitty mentor."

"So prove you're worth my time, or go find someone who cares." Harvey opens the book again and smirks.

"Here," Mike says, tossing his copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ on top of what he's now pretty sure _isn’t_ a Quidditch book. "I read this when I got my Hogwarts letter in July. Pick any page and start reading."

"I've read it." Harvey brushes the book aside and continues reading.

"Do what I ask for 60 seconds, and if I'm still not worth your time, we'll do things your way without comment from me."

The Slytherin eyes him for a long moment before sighing and putting down his own book. "Fine. Chapter 12, Wards and Their Masters?"

Mike shrugs. "Whatever you like. Though you should know, I've read that chapter three times. Try, um, seven or three, those I only read once."

"Chapter 3, Student Notification. In order to serve the needs of prospective students of all backgrounds--"

"There resides within the chambers of the Headmaster an enchanted granian-feather quill that detects children of educable levels of magic throughout the requisite area. The names of these children are recorded in a tamper-proof scroll from which--"

"Okay." Harvey flips through the book. "Regarding the matter of the creation--"

"and use of Portkeys on the grounds of Hogwarts School--"

"Merlin."

Mike frowns. "You'll have to be more specific. Merlin is referenced ... thirty-six times in this book."

Harvey stares for a moment before laughing. "So you're Muggleborn? That wasn't a test. It's just an expression."

"Oh." The younger boy looks sheepish for a moment.

Harvey sets the book gently on the table, laces his fingers behind his head, and leans back in his chair. "I think we can come to an arrangement. I teach you about the wizarding world, you write my History of Magic essays."

"That is so not how mentorship works."

* * *

_Wednesday, 28 September 2011_

Mike pushes open the door marked _Inter-House Study Room 4_ and bites his bottom lip to hold in a horrified laugh. Each wall is as ostentatious as the next, bold stripes of house colors painted directly over stone walls. A lion stalks across the red and gold wall towards them, while a snake and a raven eye each other distrustfully. The badger perched on top of the door frame blinks slowly as Mike twists around to find it.

"They don't actually bite," Rachel says, shoving him further into the room.

"Are you completely sure?" he asks, leaning away from the lion.

She laughs. "Yes, I'm sure. Chris showed me this room last week. Some of the other study rooms are probably a little more to your taste, though."

"Isn't your mentor a Gryffindor?" Mike takes a few cautious steps away from the wall. He doesn't think the lion can actually peel away from the stone and bite him, but he's not willing to take any chances. "He might think it's fun to feed helpless badgers to this lion. Lucky Ravenclaw, you can fly away any time you need to...."

"Will you sit down and quit making a spectacle of yourself?"

He glares at her. "Please, please, please show me these other study rooms. There's no way I can concentrate with all _this_." He waves a hand vaguely at the walls, sure that she'll take it for the creepy stalking animals he's been complaining about rather than the truth. Whatever paint they used for the House mascots has a ton of spells on it, most of them ugly color combinations, and the monitoring wards alone are giving him a headache. Apparently the Headmistress doesn't trust intermingling Houses as much as she claims.

Rachel rolls her eyes and leads him out of the room. "Well, at least you know where to find it now. Rooms one through three are all on this hall, too, and they're all decorated the same way, just FYI. Five through ten are in another wing, more boring walls."

Mike picks room number six in a mostly random effort to avoid as many other students as he can. He wants to study with Rachel, and Pince won't let them practice spells in the library, so these rooms are his only chance ... but he'd still rather not have anyone else and their shiny magical aura distracting him if he can help it. Six only has two other people in it, and they're in the far corner, so he nods and drops his bag on the closest table.

"Ready?"

He pulls his wand out of his pocket and nods. "I just don't know what the problem is. Flitwick said it was my wand motion...."

"You had the swish and flick combination, right?"

"Wingardium leviosa!" he says, demonstrating his mastery of that spell on her bag. She laughs and snatches it out of the air.

"Okay, okay. It's the same swish, but then there's a jab instead of a flick." She pulls her wand out of her bag and thrusts it towards him in a short, quick movement. "Like so."

Mike tries to mimic her jab, but she shakes her head and comes to stand beside him, hand over his on the wand. "Smaller, sharper, faster."

"They need a class on wand movements before they expect any of us to cast any spells," he grouses, trying the jab on his own.

"Most purebloods and halfbloods pick it up at home, and I guess they don't want to make a class that only Muggleborns have to take," she replies, shooting a small flame from her wandtip absently. "Someone could call that discrimination."

"Well, at least cover it in McAdams's class. Wand movements should totally count as magical theory, if they're so important in spellcasting." He jabs again, and Rachel nods approvingly.

"Better." She grins at him. "You could suggest it, you know. Tell McAdams it would be helpful to have a quick lesson on it. Review for some, exposure before class for others. The worst he can do is say no."

The scuff of a shoe on the stone floor catches Mike's attention, and he spins on his heel to find the other occupants of the room heading towards them with their bags. You're right by the door, he reminds himself, but their sneers don't look promising.

"McAdams'll say no," the girl says loudly, looking anywhere but at them. "He's not a blood traitor like the little Ravenclaw whore."

"He knows how to keep Mudbloods in their place," the boy replies equally as loudly, but his eyes meet Mike's.

"He also knows what sort of language is appropriate in this school," a cool voice answers from behind Mike, and he finds himself spinning again. A tall girl leans casually against the doorframe, Prefect badge pinned to her Ravenclaw robes. "Ten points from Slytherin."

The other two glare at her before leaving the room silently.

"For what it's worth, McAdams _will_ say no," the girl says, turning her gaze on the first-years. "It's already part of his class, even if he doesn't teach it. Talk to Flitwick instead; he probably thinks McAdams is following the syllabus."

"Thanks, Jessica," Rachel says, and Mike echoes her. "And thanks for taking care of them."

She pushes off the doorframe and settles into a nearby armchair. "They probably won't bother you again, Rachel, but you'd best keep your eyes out for them, Mike."

He nods, only mildly surprised that she seems to know him already. "Okay. Thanks, um, Jessica."

"What are you trying to do in here?"

Rachel butts in before Mike can do more than open his mouth. "He's having trouble with the jabbing motion for ventus caldus. I'm trying to help, but he seems pathologically incapable of jabbing."

"What's your wand wood?" Jessica asks, and he tilts his head to one side. "Some of the springier woods don't jab as well."

"Oh. Hazel, um, a bit springier than normal, Ollivander said. It's an old wand; I think he said his father made it? He wasn't too happy selling it to me. Something about a substandard core, but it works fine for me."

Jessica frowns at him. "You're awfully young for a hazel wand, especially one that's been sitting around that long." He just shrugs. "Try a modified slash instead of the jab for warming charms and fire spells. Possibly even the Lumos family, if you have trouble with those. Which way do you usually slash?"

"Which way ... I don't know. Should I know that?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Make a slashing motion, genius. Make it a few different ways and see which one feels most natural."

"Oh." Mike slashes a bit, then grins. "Up and to the right."

"Try a short down-and-left slash instead of the jab," Jessica prompts.

"Ventus caldus," he says forcefully, slashing a bit farther than he means to, and he grins at the burst of fire that shoots out of his wand.

"Michael James Ross!"

His eyes snap away from his wand and towards the door, where the Headmistress's robes are being doused with water from the wand of none other than Harvey Specter. Of course. The first time he gets a difficult spell not-exactly-right, he sets the _Headmistress_ on fire. And of course, when he does that, _Harvey_ is the one who puts out the fire. He resists the urge to hide his head in his hands. "Oh. Uh. Sorry?"

He realizes belatedly that his grin of triumph has not completely faded. "Practicing spells outside of class is a priviledge, not a right, Michael," she snaps. "And _thank you_ , Mister Specter." Harvey hastily cancels his long-since unnecessary augamenti. "Miss Pearson, I expected better."

Jessica shrugs as the Headmistress sweeps out of the room, leaving behind a puddle of water and the faint smell of burned wool. "Good job, Mike. Though you may want to work on moderating your power. That should only be warm air, not flames."

Rachel laughs. "I can't believe you didn't lose points!"

Harvey snorts and drops into the second armchair. "Are you kidding? I'm surprised she didn't take you over her knee and spank you. What's with the full name, rookie?"

Mike flushes as they all look at him expectantly. "It's like she took over being my grandmother when I came here," he mumbles. "Hey, Harvey? What's a Mudblood?"

Rachel flinches beside him, and Jessica's eyes narrow, but Harvey doesn't seem to react to the word. "Muggleborn. It's an archaic term. A bit derogatory, as you might guess. Who'd you run into, Selwyn?"

"And Parkinson," Jessica confirms. "Not that you see one without the other anymore."

Harvey nods. "I'll deal with him."

"I'm glad to keep taking points. Don't lose your place over this," Jessica warns, and Mike shoots a confused look at Rachel, who just shrugs at him.

"Won't," Harvey agrees easily. "So, what, is Mike your grand-mentee or something now, just because he was assigned to me? Or do you not trust me to take care of my new toy?"

* * *

_Thursday, 20 October 2011_

A stack of books thuds onto the table in front of Mike, who jumps out of his chair and sends it crashing to the ground. Harvey smirks almost proudly, and the redheaded girl with him arches a single eyebrow.

"Jumpy little pup you've got."

Harvey shrugs. "He just needs some training. Donna, Mike. Mike, we need you on History before Tuesday. Tomorrow at eight?"

Mike hums to himself, righting his chair and running through his to-do list in his head. "Nah, now's good. I'm set for the month. Details?"

"DictaQuill of the past three lectures. Textbook, spelled to open to the relevant chapters. Too many inconsistencies regarding goblins. These are the books Pince suggested cross-referencing." Harvey drops into one of the open chairs, pushes a roll of parchment and a book towards Mike, and pulls a book off the top of the stack already on the table. "Catch up on what we've already read. Donna, grab a book."

She sits and reaches for the next book in the pile, but eyes them both suspiciously. "Set for the month?"

He shrugs. "I mean, I don't have all the practical work down, but that's gotta be done in class anyway. Nobody but Slughorn would give me the full term's assignments, and I'm tired of doing Potions essays. Jesus, Harvey, you've got to quit using this ink; it's really hard to read."

"What's wrong with it?" Harvey cranes his neck to read it, then frowns. "Looks fine to me."

"It's, um, I don't know. Charmed? Against me ever reading it?" Mike squints and tilts the parchment, trying to find an angle at which the shimmering pink charm doesn't obstruct his view of the words.

"Standard anti-smearing spell with a side order of automatic refill into my primary bottle."

Mike sets the notes back on the table. "Refill charm should be on the bottle itself, right? Not the ink. Can I see it?"

Harvey shrugs and reaches down to find his ink in his bag. Donna clears her throat and waits until the younger boy is looking at her.

"Refill charms have to follow logical rules, just like any other magic. I still have to buy ink; it just transfers from the larger container in my dorm to my little classroom bottle."

Mike frowns at her, considering the implications of her suggestion. "So you're saying the bottles are connected by the spell, not the ink?" 

She shrugs. "Mine are. Harvey's might be different."

A small container of ink drops onto the table in front of him, and he slams his eyes shut. "Oh, Jesus, that's horrendous."

"That's high quality ink!" Harvey sounds outraged, and Mike cracks his eyes open, careful not to look down at the offending ink. As long as he isn't looking straight at it, the relatively-unimportant charm fades easily into the background of all the other magic surrounding him.

"I'm sure it is. Donna, can I see yours?" He ignores Harvey's indignant splutters.

She arches an eyebrow at him but complies with his request. Her ink shares the same shimmering pink glow, but it's not as strong as Harvey's.

"Can I write something with it?"

"No."

He pouts, just in case she's the type to fall for that. "Please? I just need to see--"

"Here." She pulls a piece of parchment out of her bag, already covered in Transfiguration notes. He glances over the words just enough to have them in his head for later recall and sinks back into his chair in relief at the ink. The only spell on it is the same subtle green anti-smearing his own ink sports.

"Oh, thank God, that's much better. You're in charge of any notes I might need to read in the future, okay?"

Donna glares at him. "Just because you're Harvey's special pet doesn't mean you can give me orders."

"A, he's not my special pet, and B, he's doing half our research. Which gives him the right to make _polite requests_." Harvey sends a significant look at Mike, who sighs.

"Right, sorry. Donna, goddess of Ravenclaw and mistress of everything, if I could perchance win favor with your holiness and beg that you honor me with the gift of notes in your ink rather than Harvey's, I would be truly indebted to you and would repay the generous bestowal with hours of tedious research and an overwhelming feeling of gratitude."

She laughs, though it looks like it's against her will. "What did you do, swallow a thesaurus? Fine, but Harvey's going to pay for any extra ink expenditure I might have."

Mike grins at her. "Thanks! Hey, since that's taken care of, can you cast a copying charm on his notes so I don't have to look at them? I know the incantation, but Professor Sprout made me promise not to try anything for the first time outside of class unless there's a professor with me."

"You set the Headmistress's robes on fire once, and they never quite trust you again," Harvey interjects sardonically, and Mike flushes.

"I didn't know she was going to walk in the room! Anyway, I did the spell almost right."

"Here," Donna says sharply, shoving a parchment in front of Mike. "Stop gossiping about yourself and get reading."

Harvey leans over and whispers in her ear, but it's easily loud enough for Mike to hear. "I thought you liked gossip."

"About interesting people," she says, not bothering to whisper. "Nobody cares about another Muggleborn Hufflepuff first-year. The school's practically overrun with them."

The Slytherin smirks at her without replying, and Mike drops his gaze to the copied notes before Harvey can turn that look onto him.

* * *

_Tuesday, 6 December 2011_

"Spill, rookie," Harvey says unexpectedly, and Mike looks up from his copy of _A Standard Book of Spells, Grade Two_.

"Hmm?"

"Tell me your secret."

Mike rolls off his stomach and pulls himself up onto the couch. "I don't have any secrets."

Harvey rolls his eyes. "Everyone has secrets, and what's more, you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Uh, actually, I don't?" Mike glances around the study room, surprised to find it empty. Rachel and Donna left a while back for a House meeting, but he's pretty sure there were more people besides the four of them in here. "Is it dinnertime?"

"You're never at dinner when it starts anyway. What's your hang-up? I'm not going to tell anyone else."

"You tell Donna everything." He wrenches his gaze back to his mentor with difficulty. "And you'll have to be more specific. You already know about my freakish memory, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to hear about the only other thing I don't talk about, my obligatory Mudblood sob story."

"Don't use that fucking word," Harvey snaps darkly. "And you're too young for that kind of sob story. My classmates are the last to claim that particular honor, and you--" He cuts himself off, swallows hard, and it looks like he's struggling to compose himself again. "I want to know how you always know when something's charmed," he continues, calmer.

Mike flushes. "It's not like I always know what the charm is," he mutters, feeling unreasonably ashamed. He's only eleven, he's only been around magic for six months - only been at school for three of those months - nobody can expect him to recognize every possible charm. Not even with his memory.

"Still."

"I can't tell you."

Harvey frowns. "What kind of can't?"

Mike shrugs and studies his hands. "I'm not allowed."

"By magic, or you've just been told not to tell?"

"By ... what? McGonagall told me not to tell anyone. No spells involved - and as you've noticed, I would know if there had been."

The older boy grunts, but otherwise remains silent for a long moment. Mike's just given up on the conversation and turned back to his book when he finally replies.

"You don't trust me."

"I believe that was rule four or so in the Harvey Specter Handbook. Trust no one. Right after _Listen to what your fucking teachers tell you, Ross_ , so excuse me if I follow two rules in one go."

Harvey grunts again, but Mike thinks there's a touch of amusement in it this time. "You threw out the first two rules quickly enough."

His eyes jerk away from his borrowed textbook to glare at the older boy. "I've only been late four times! And you're the one who started this conversation, so I think your second stupid rule doesn't even count right now. I'm not supposed to tell you, so stop trying cause problems!"

"You want to know your problem?" Harvey asks, somewhere between irritated and vaguely amused. "You're trying to keep it a secret without asking your best cover for help. Seriously, Mike. Your classmates are getting suspicious. Donna hears things, even if she doesn't know what it means yet. I'm your pureblood third-year mentor; you should start saying things like _Oh, I've seen Harvey use that spell_ if you want to leave suspicion behind."

"My dormmates know about my memory," Mike counters, and the older boy just laughs.

"Which totally explains how you can identify invisible spells by family the first time you see them. Merlin, you're an idiot sometimes. Did you ever stop to wonder why you're the only one in your dorm with a Slytherin mentor? Why it's _me_ , of all people? McGonagall's planned for your stupidity, and it's a good thing she did. You have to learn how to hide your abilities if you don't want people to figure them out."

"I can't just suddenly stop knowing things! Wouldn't that be more suspicious?"

Harvey sighs and slouches deeper into his armchair. "Which is why you ask your convenient Slytherin for help."

"I can't tell you," Mike whispers, feeling suddenly lost.

"So I'll tell you." Harvey murmurs something under his breath, and Mike's head whips around without concious direction to follow the turquoise spell over to the door, where it spreads before settling onto the doorknob. "For one, that's a dead giveaway. If you turn your head to follow every single spell, it's obvious that you can see them. You follow spells even if I cast them to curve instead of shooting straight. You stare at the Headmistress's nonverbal spells at meals. I can only imagine what you must be like in class."

Mike stares at his mentor for a long moment. "Is it that obvious?" he finally whispers, and Harvey nods slowly, a small smile crossing his face.

"Only to me." He rolls his eyes when Mike relaxes. "For now, only me. Other people are starting to look, though."

"So, what, you're just so awesome that you noticed first? You do care!"

Harvey's eyes roll again, and it looks borderline painful. "After our first meeting, McGonagall told me to keep an eye on you and step in if necessary. I figured it was your bizarre need to be perfect and that stupid memory trick, but apparently not. I noticed because I was told to watch you. I'm stepping in because other people are noticing now. It's my job to make you suck less at being surreptitious, but that's a lot easier if I know details. So. Spill."

Mike blinks slowly. "A, it's a very _useful_ memory trick and not stupid at all. B, you still totally care. And C, I'm pretty sure you just told me more about this whole thing than I know, so what exactly do you want me to spill?"

"You're the one who can see magic," Harvey answers, crossings his legs at the ankle. "I assume McG brought you here over the summer. I'm also guessing it's somehow related to why Slughorn doesn't fawn over you like all the other professors."

"Wha-- I-- You-- He--"

"Words, pup."

"Nobody _fawns_ over me!"

Harvey smirks. "Oh, but they do. Well, McAdams doesn't, but he's a dick. It doesn't matter; Old Sluggy'll decide to collect you soon enough. Explain this."

Mike takes the parchment offered to him and gapes at Harvey. It's a bunch of progress reports, from each of his professors, dated that day.

"First-years get reports written and sent to their Head of House, Headmistress, and parents at Christmas."

> Flitwick, Charms: Michael's practical work is on par with his classmates, but his theoretical work is head and shoulders above. He seems to have an innate understanding of the relationships between similar spells and shows the beginnings of grasping concepts like combining spells. I can't wait until his fifth-year project. He's sure to be creating charms by then.  
> Slughorn, Potions: Ross's essays are universally Outstanding, but his potions are only rarely above Acceptable. I've paired him with Rachel Zane in the hopes that she can work out his practical difficulties.  
> Thomas, Defense: Mike's shield charms are already better than most students' at the end of their first year. He'd do well to join the Dueling Club next year; actually, I'd be willing to make an exception and let him in now.  
> McAdams, Theory: Class grade O. Should be dropped.  
> Longbottom, Herbology: Michael shows an excellent ability to tell apart similar plants and recall properties. Unfortunately, his class's batch of Devil's Snare was burned in the sixth-years' fight, so we don't know his growing capabilities yet.  
> Hooch, Flying: Mike is a good flier and could drop Flying when he returns from break. However, if he stays, he would have a real chance at the Hufflepuff Quidditch team next year. I haven't asked if he's interested yet, but I look forward to convincing him.

He stops reading there. "Quidditch? Really? I don't even pay that much attention to the sport."

"Clearly, you should."

"And why do you have this, anyway? _How_ do you have this?"

Harvey shrugs carelessly. "McGonagall keeps me apprised of ... situations. And while it's great you're not being perfect across the board, I still want to know why you aren't."

Mike flushes uncomfortably. "Rachel said I don't cut the ingredients well, and I don't stir well, and I'm hopeless at the nuances of potion-making."

"Is that so." Harvey's face seems to suggest that he's hiding something, but Mike shrugs it off in favor of defending his academic prowess. He'll figure out a way to ferret it out in the new year.

* * *

_Wednesday, 11 January 2012_

"Are you colorblind?" Rachel hisses, smacking Mike's hand away from the cauldron. "Add nettles until the potion's _purple_ , not whatever horrid name someone's come up with for this. You should have stopped three nettles ago!"

"How can you possibly know that!" Mike glares at her, fighting back a truly epic pout. "You were in the supply closet three nettles ago."

"I can approximate! Are you actually colorblind? Maybe you should have that checked out."

"What? Really? I'm not!"

She shrugs, obviously unconvinced. "I can fix your cutting technique, but there's not a whole lot I can do about the color thing. I'm serious; you should get Madam Pomfrey to check your eyes."

"I've been checked. There's nothing wrong with my eyes," he replies, almost absently, frowning at the cauldron. He watches Rachel's brewing carefully for the rest of the period, helping only with the stirring and the chopping under her direction. He walks with her to lunch and joins the Ravenclaw table.

"Hi, Donna."

She doesn't reply, and Mike turns a helpless look on Rachel.

"I am not getting in the middle of this."

"You are a terrible friend," he replies, turning back to Donna. "Um, can I bribe you? Would that work?"

"I can't believe you've spent nearly five months around Harvey and haven't managed to absorb a single ounce of subtlety."

"Oh, good, you're talking to me! So, really, I need your help, and I will do almost anything for it."

She finally turns to look at him - down at him, actually; pointedly, obviously _down_ at him. "Subtlety. Again. Do you do this on purpose to annoy him?"

He blinks once. "Um?"

Donna sighs. "Make your offer so I can turn you down."

"Okay. Well. Harvey said you're really good at making potions, and while Rachel is a great partner in class, she's sort of given up on me ever actually being able to do it myself. I can follow the directions; it's just when it's not real directions that I can't do it."

"There is literally nothing you can offer me in exchange for tutoring." She turns back to her food with an air of finality that leaves Mike just sort of staring at her, not even trying to change her mind.

"D'you cook much, holidays?"

He turns towards the boy asking him. "Um, yeah, sometimes. I mean, when I'm home. Gram loves to bake, but I try to help out."

The boy nods. "Ever make soup? Or watch your Gram make soup?"

"Yeah, probably, why?"

"Teddy Lupin." The boy holds out a hand, and Mike introduces himself in turn. "Sometimes I think I hang around Donna and Harvey just to remind them to be humans every now and then. But the potions. With a soup, you add some spices, then smell it or taste it to see if it's right. A lot of potions work that way. Sounds like that's your problem."

"I am not tasting my potions--"

"No, of course not." Teddy smiles at him, and Mike sort of hates himself for being surprised that there's no mockery in it. Definitely need some other friends. "You look at the color of the potion, or the consistency of the potion, or how a neutral additive reacts on the surface of the potion. It takes practice, but you can learn. I'm no Potions genius, but I have some spare time if you need help."

Mike grins at the Ravenclaw. "That's ... you're serious? That's, like, really nice of you. I don't think I need help, but that's a good idea. Practice. Maybe Slughorn would let me in the dungeons when there aren't classes to practice."

Donna snorts from behind him. "If you're as bad as it sounds, he won't. He only lets the good students practice unsupervised."

"Hey, what if--"

"No."

Teddy smiles again. "Harvey's your mentor, right? He's not bad at Potions, either. If he says no, my offer still stands, too."

Mike tilts his head a bit to the left, just in case seeing Teddy from a different angle helps him make sense of the older boy. "Despite the fact that it makes it clear you're, like, my third choice."

"You don't know me. It's logical."

Ravenclaws. Mike nods like he understands and grabs his bag, heading across the room to the Slytherin table.

"So, Slughorn likes you," Mike says, dropping onto the bench beside Harvey and helping himself to a chicken leg. "Do you think you can ask him for some time in the study lab and then, I don't know, smuggle me in instead?"

"No. Your table is over there," Harvey answers, pointing vaguely over his shoulder.

"Then I guess you don't want to know that you have two factual errors and three spelling mistakes on the History of Magic essay in your bag."

Mike smirks as Harvey raises an eyebrow at him. "That had better be true, and you'd better not be planning anything dangerous or illegal."

"I promise, on both counts. Although, actually, it'd be best if you could sit in there while I'm working?"

Harvey pushes Mike off the bench and towards the Hufflepuff table, but after dinner, there's a pointed look, and Mike follows him down into the dungeons.

"You owe me four more essays worth of proofing. And if you need help with your potions, I'm not your man." Harvey drops onto a stool by the door and pulls out quill and parchment. "But don't blow anything up on me. These are new robes."

It doesn't take Mike long to realize that he won't get anywhere working alone. There are fewer colors of magic drifting around the room with only one potion brewing at a time, but he still can't tell which haze is the smoke he's supposed to be checking for color and which is spare magic let off by the potion.

"Harvey?"

"No."

"Not even if it's a matter of potentially exploding potion?"

The older boy sighs loudly and looks up. "What?"

"What color is the smoke?"

He rolls his eyes. "Blue."

"Yeah, okay, _which_ blue?"

Harvey pulls out his wand and frowns for a second, then casts a shield in the middle of all the other colors Mike can see.

"Not helping!"

"Shut up a second." Harvey's concentrating on something, and soon, the shield starts to move, herding one of the colors with it. It passes through everything else, and the older boy glances over at him. "Hopefully, the smoke is the only thing moving."

Mike nods and studies the smoke's color, trying to figure out where the potion is. "So, more stirring."

"Is this--" Harvey drops his shield and looks down at Mike's book. "There is absolutely no risk of explosion!"

"Yeah, I thought I'd try my hand at Slytherin-ing to get your help."

Harvey looks torn. "You lied to get my attention. And yet, I'm oddly proud of the deception."

"I still can't tell the smoke apart from the other magic. Even knowing which is which now, I can't see any difference."

"Can't help you there." The Slytherin returns to his table and picks up the quill again. "I thought your pet Ravenclaw was the potions genius."

Mike glares at the smoke he's still staring at. He's a little bit afraid that if he looks away, he won't be able to pick it out again, and it's almost at the right shade. "She's not my pet anything, and you're a wretched example of a human being. Anyway, I'm not telling her why I need help, which kind of makes it hard for her to actually be helpful. You're my only option here."

"And what's your plan, to take me with you to potions class?" Mike stops stirring and turns a hopeful look on Harvey, only to be immediately crushed by the mockery on the older boy's face. "Even if I would ever consider that, Slughorn wouldn't. And you certainly couldn't take me along when you take your OWLs, so you'd best find another way. Soon." Harvey finishes his parchment with a flourish and rolls it up neatly. "Are you done here?"

Mike shrugs and banishes his potion easily. "Yeah, I guess. Was that just a regular shield charm? It looked normal, but then you were moving it...."

"Professor Thomas says it's just a willpower thing that only hornbeam wands seem to be able to do." Harvey grins and preens.

"That's not helpful for me, then. I guess I need to spend some time in the library."

* * *

_Thursday, 16 February 2012_

Mr Ross,

Please come see me in my office this morning at 11:00.

Professor Flitwick

* * *

Mike yelps and flails his arms wildly, only to crash bodily into Harvey. "This is a one-time offer that you have exactly five seconds to accept."

He pushes up onto his own two feet and straightens the scarf the older boy had grabbed to get his attention. "Five seconds to accept an offer I know nothing about? I'll pass."

There's something approaching approval in Harvey's eyes, but he shakes his head anyway. "Ravenclaw is playing Gryffindor. You'll join us in the Ravenclaw stands, cheer appropriately for Ravenclaw, boo the Gryffs, and get all your questions about Quidditch answered by one expert and two Ravenclaws."

"Rachel?"

"Not that Ravenclaw."

Mike shrugs. "Throw in a guaranteed twenty minutes talking Chaser with Donna within the next week, and I'll ... do something awesome for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no idea where I was going to go with that at the end, so have fun imagining!


	3. 2nd year

_Saturday, 1 September 2012_

"Hey, Donna," Mike says as he passes her on the station, and even though he was hoping for it, he's really completely shocked when she acknowledges his presence with a nod and an incomprehensible little noise.

He stows his trunk while keeping an eye on her, and when she finally abandons her parents - obviously Muggle dad, a mum who might be a witch or could just be a cool-headed Muggle - he follows her as unobtrusively as he can manage to a compartment. He lurks in the hallway for a little while, chatting with classmates and housemates as they pass by, and when she doesn't come out of the compartment, he knocks once and slides the door open.

"Five and a half minutes. You owe me a Galleon," Harvey says without looking up, and Mike splutters.

"I ... what? How?"

Donna drops a coin into the outstretched hand, and Mike slides the door shut behind him before dropping onto the seat beside Harvey.

"Oh. Never mind. Hey, can I sit here?" Mike glances around the compartment; Teddy Lupin shrugs with a smile, and a girl he hasn't met just ignores him.

"You seem to be capable of it," Harvey answers, and Mike kicks him. "Hey! Kick Donna, it's her turn."

"Kick Donna, and the whole pack of cards is going down your throat." Mike catches a glimpse of the box - Exploding Snap - and quickly draws his feet as far away from her as physically possible. "Wise choice."

"I'd offer to play the winner, but I'm terrible at Snap," he says after a moment of silence.

Harvey sighs. "I'm not required to spend time with you anymore."

"And I wasn't required to help you with all those essays last year, either."

The other girl laughs suddenly, and everyone whips their heads up to look at her. "No, Harvey, come on, this is adorable. The puppy just wants a friend."

As Harvey joins the laughter, Mike stands up and leaves the compartment abruptly. He saw Danielle and Rachel earlier; maybe they have an empty seat.

* * *

_Wednesday, 12 September 2012_

"Ross!" Professor MacMillan calls from the stands, and he sighs before aiming his broom at her.

"Professor?"

She frowns at him. "I hope you realize that you won't be permitted to join the team. It's against the rules."

"There's a rule against Mike Ross playing Quidditch?"

The professor rubs at her forehead. "Minerva should have explained this to you last year. Or Rolanda. Anybody who knows more about this than I do. Mages can't play Quidditch."

"What!" He drops onto the bench, and she sits beside him more sedately. "I mean, yeah, I can see the Snitch and the Bludgers, but I'm trying out for Chaser!"

"You have an unfair advantage dodging Bludgers--"

"For Christ's -- Merlin's sake, that doesn't even make sense. I have to be looking in the right direction to see their magic, and if I'm looking in the right direction, I'll see the bloody Bludger!"

"Language, Mr Ross."

He slumps and sighs. "Yeah, sorry, but this is coming out of nowhere. Allow me my moment of surprise."

"If it helps any, I believe the main concern is your ability to see the Snitch."

Mike can't help himself; he glares at his Head of House. "Which is why I'm not going out for Seeker, even though I've got the build and the flying skills for it. Even without being a mage, I'd have a fair shot at the spot."

The professor shrugs. "I won't pretend to be a Quidditch fanatic. Madam Hooch would know more, but I'm guessing the rule is in place to prevent unscrupulous players from giving away the ball's location to the team's Seeker."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"None of my badgers would," MacMillan says, voice suddenly steely. "And I won't hear of anybody accusing you of it." She softens and relaxes a bit into the bench. "You're a good Chaser, kid, but rules are rules. Maybe we should start up some kind of Muggle sport that you'd be allowed to play."

Mike throws himself against the back of the bench. "It wouldn't have the following Quidditch does. But thanks for the thought."

* * *

Harvey's talking to someone Mike only vaguely recognizes from Quidditch games. He thinks it's the first-string Keeper for Slytherin, and that only makes him feel a little more bitter.

"Shove over," he says roughly, inserting himself between the two boys and taking a roll from the platter in front of him.

"Mike Ross, Jason Lament. How do you do, nice to see you again, how was your summer, bugger off." Harvey doesn't physically push him away, so Mike counts it as a win.

"Lament," he acknowledges, and the older boy looks amused at the nonchalant Hufflepuff sitting at the Slytherin table.

"Seriously, twerp, what are you doing here."

Mike glares up at Harvey. "Making use of your obsessively sports-oriented brain. I haven't had a chance to get to the library yet. I don't care if you're a jackass who doesn't want to hang around with second-years, you still know your Quidditch. What are the rules about--" He hesitates, glances at Lament. "They won't even let me be, like, team waterboy or something."

Harvey's face hardens. "Why the fu-- Oh." He shoots a glance at Lament as well. "Look, I'll be at practice, you can show me then, okay?"

"Sure," the Keeper agrees evenly, eyeing them closely.

"Eat now. Study room later." Harvey glares fiercely at Mike, who grins back at him and dutifully shovels food onto his plate.

"So how _was_ your summer?" he asks through a mouthful, and Harvey tosses a balled-up napkin at his head in lieu of an answer.

* * *

Harvey mumbles a charm at the door, and MIke frowns at the green-grey of it. "Hey, whoa, that's not a locking charm, is it?"

"Does it look like a locking charm?"

"Well, kinda, but also not really, which would be why I asked."

"Anti-eavesdropping. Doesn't actually lock the door, so people can still get it; McGonagall yelled at me last time I locked it."

Mike snorts as he lets the older boy push him towards a chair. "Yeah, that would have nothing to do with the fact that she caught you wanking in here."

A brief flash of discomfort shows on Harvey's face before it's hidden behind smug calm. "Still." He drops his bag on the floor and sinks into the couch. "Did you go to try-outs?"

"Yeah, I mean, MacMillan caught me literally in the middle of my turn. Made me come sit in the stands with her and everything."

Harvey frowns. "Nobody told you beforehand?"

"Because _Are any of you prospective players mages?_ is such a common pre-try-out question. No, Harvey; if they'd told me I couldn't play, I wouldn't have bothered going this afternoon."


	4. 2nd-3rd summer

"Son." The doctor sets a heavy hand on Mike's should. "Is there anyone we can call for you?"

Mike shakes his head, then freezes. "Actually, yeah, um, could I use a phone?"

He's given a bit of privacy to make the call, and he gratefully shuts the office door behind him. "Phone-to-owl message for Harvey Specter, please," he tells the operator, and she asks him in a bored voice to continue. "Gram in Colchester General Hospital. Please come, and bring an adult."

The operator informs him that the short message will be delivered free of charge under the Muggleborn Emergency Contact Act of 2003 and that Headmistress McGonagall will also be informed of the situation, pursuant to the Muggleborn Magical Emergency Law of 2004. Mike hangs up in the middle of her disclaimer regarding spelling errors and any misunderstandings caused by them, and the doctor smiles down at him.

"My best friend and his mum are on the way," Mike says, hoping it's true, and the doctor leads him back to the waiting area.

He's surprised to find Professor McGonagall standing in the waiting area, wearing what must be her regular robes transfigured into an old-fashioned dress. She smiles at him and at the doctor, who frowns at her.

"I'm the boy's legal guardian, should his grandmother remain in the hospital for any length of time," she says to him, and Mike can see a trace of magic in her words that he's pretty sure is an weak, unconscious charm intended to convince him of the truth of her words. "Edith should have me listed as next of kin; Minerva McGonagall."

The doctor shakes her hand firmly. "Of course. We were concerned when there wasn't a contact number in her chart--"

"Michael sent a message to me through his friend, who is on the way as well for moral support. May I see Edith?"

"She's still in recovery at the moment - we surgically repaired a hip fracture - but the two of you can visit her when she's transferred to her regular room." He excuses himself, and Mike looks helplessly up at the Headmistress.

"Are you really--"

"Standard procedure for Muggleborn students with limited family," she cuts in quickly.

Mike doesn't point out that that wasn't exactly an answer. Harvey's been telling him for ages to stop letting his opponents know everything his knows, and while he's pretty sure she's not an opponent ... well, assuming she is until he knows otherwise is another lesson from the What Would Harvey Do book.


	5. 3rd year

_Thursday, 19 September 2013_

"Dude, I really hate you sometimes," Mike grouses as he throws himself into the empty space on the couch. "Hey, Donna."

She glares pointedly at his feet, and he retracts them from anywhere that might possibly be considered her space, choosing to sprawl them on top of Harvey's ankles instead. "Good morning, pup," she replies as soon as he's moved.

"A, don't call me dude, and B, why do you hate me today?" Harvey tucks the tip of his quill back in between his teeth, but he turns away from his messy scroll and levitated library book to look at Mike.

"It's all so easy this year! All the work I did helping you, there's nothing left for me to learn. What am I going to do?"

"Learn the fifth year work with me?" Harvey drops his quill onto his lack and nudges the book gently, and it drifts over to float in front of Mike. "Sluggy's set an essay on the use of wand magic in the Wideye Potion, but our book only says to do it, not why. You can help me read this stack of books."

"Do you think he'd notice if I turned in your old essay on the Confusing Concoction next week?" Mike pushes the book back towards Harvey and leans over him to look at the rest of the stack. "There's nothing useful in that one, or this one, so don't waste your time looking."

"He uses a Cheating Charm on the marking quill," Donna says, and Mike frowns.

Harvey makes a thoughtful sound. "Would it show, though? It wouldn't be the same parchment or anything, and he'd do it in his own handwriting."

"Sounds like someone either has to write his own essay or spend a few hours researching the charm." Donna turns back to her own books with an air of finality, and Harvey shrugs.

"It's worth the research," a voice says behind them, and Mike jumps. Jessica smiles down at him in the way that always makes him wonder why she isn't a Slytherin. "Flitwick always sets a foot-long essay on various anti-cheating measures to the fifth-years as a deterrent before OWLs."

Mike returns her smile, though he's sure it's a few orders of magnitude less shark-like on his face. "Hey, thanks. Sounds interesting, anyway. Do people really try to cheat their OWLs?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Harvey mutters, attention back on his books. "We're, what, three weeks into the year? My year is already circulating all kinds of intellect-enhancing potions. Not that any of them are real. Also, that's just the Hufflepuffs."

"My dormmates are already begging for study guides from the sixth-years," Donna puts in before Mike can rise to the bait.

"Imagine what the rest of the seventh-years are like," Jessica adds. She sighs and runs her hand over the back of the couch. "I've got a meeting with McGonagall. Are you two planning to work in the hidden room after dinner again?"

Donna nods, but Harvey shakes his head. "I have ... another study group scheduled."

Mike rolls his eyes. "Boring. I'm trying to organize a pick-up game of Quidditch, but I've only got one Seeker, and it's probably not a good idea for me to play anything but Chaser even informally."

"Good thinking, for once."

Jessica whacks Harvey gently in the back of the head. "You're welcome to join us if the game falls through, Mike." She leaves before he answers, but he's honestly speechless anyway, so it doesn't matter.

* * *

more scenes of Jessica being subtle

* * *

_Thursday, 17 October 2013_

"Psst! Harvey!"

The older boy stops in the middle of the hall and turns slowly to fix a disbelieving look on Mike. "Really?" he drawls slowly, and Mike flushes as everyone from Harvey's class also stops to look at him.

"Um. Hi?"

Harvey rolls his eyes. "I'll catch you at dinner," he says to a boy Mike doesn't recognize before jerking his head and walking in the opposite direction. Mike scurries to catch up to him. "Do you remember our conversation about how _not_ to keep secrets? Because that was an excellent demonstration."

"Yeah, okay, this isn't, I mean, I just--" He gives up on talking and thrusts a scrap of parchment at Harvey. "Look!"

"Yes, I saw you got mail this morning." The Slytherin takes the parchment, though, and unfolds it. "Huh."

"What do I _do_?"

Harvey laughs and folds the parchment again, tucking it into Mike's bag without missing a stride.

"Seriously! I mean, I can't exactly tell her no, right?"

"She's Head Girl, not the Queen."

"Not helpful!"

Harvey steers Mike through a door and flicks the familiar turquoise spell over his shoulder. "You should talk to her. Nobody's going to force you, but it's the best possible choice."

"She's been trying to get me alone for the past month. Pardon me if I'm a little suspicious."

A slow smile spreads across Harvey's face. "So you did notice."

"What would Harvey do?" he mutters, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I noticed. And I tried not to let on that I'd noticed, since she was being all Slytherin about the whole thing. But alone? She's ... she's...."

"Nearly twice as tall as you?"

"I was going to say intimidating, but now that you mention it, she _is_ awfully tall."

"She's also Head Girl, top of her class, and clearly going to be a very powerful woman. Fifth years are falling over themselves trying to curry favor, and you're running away like a scared toddler."

Mike glares at the older boy. "Am not! But I think she knows."

"And your answer to that is to ignore her instead of trying some sort of damage control."

"And my answer to that is not to confirm it!"

Harvey shrugs. "She's known for a while. Or, I should say, strongly suspected. She knows me better than anyone, except maybe Donna, and I wouldn't have kept you around any longer than McGonagall required if you weren't interesting somehow."

"You _told_ her?"

"Were you just listening? She's not an idiot. I only suggested that she talk to you instead of me. And she was being subtle, but since you willfully ignored that...."

Mike huffs. "Well, whatever. Why can't she just come to a regular study night? Donna, I guess. Well, she probably knows by now, too."

* * *

also more scenes

* * *

"Hang on a second," Harvey interrupts, raising a hand in Mike's face and frowning down the corridor at a group of first-years. The kids are clearly facing off, Gryffindors versus Slytherins, and two have wands out and ready to curse. Harvey swears under his breath and breaks into a jog, Mike hot on his heels. "Hey!"

The ringleaders whirl towards him at the yell, and the spells meant for each other both fly straight at Harvey. Mike can tell from the look of horror on their faces that they weren't planning to be caught be a prefect. Harvey's hand flies towards his wand, but Mike's pretty sure he won't be able to unholster it and cast a shield charm quickly enough. He knows he can't get to his own wand fast enough. His heart goes into overdrive as they skid into a halt in a desperate effort to buy that extra millisecond of time before the hexes hit home. He recognizes one as Fiendfyre, and the other one ... well, he's sure it can't be good, not that dark of a red.

Mike flings a hand out to the wall beside him as he stumbles to a stop. All he can think about is his desperation to save Harvey from the rush angry red spells, and when his fingers seem to close around a green strand of the native wards, he reacts on instincts he didn't know he had. _Please please please_ , he thinks frantically, throwing the ward in front of Harvey. He pictures a stone wall across the corridor in front of them, practically begs the ward to accept that it's real. He can feel the ward draining his magic, but Harvey's wand isn't even fully up, and he hasn't had time to say more than "Prot--"

The spells slam into Mike's imaginary wall, and he screams as the ward reacts as though the wall were really there. The green strand expands faster than Mike can see, covering the entire imagined surface, and the ward flashes as it absorbs the Fiendfyre bursting against it. The impact of the second hex makes Mike's chest ache as he taps core reserves of magic to force it through the wards into the castle's real walls. The stone seems to groan with the effort, and Mike lets go of the ward, watches it snap back to its original place.

"--ego!" Harvey finishes, eyes widening in shock as the spells don't even reach his belated shield. Mike manages to grin up at him for about half a second before his legs give out, and he collapses against the wall, eyes sliding shut as he fights to stay conscious.

"None of you move!" Harvey snaps at the first-years. "Two points from each of you for fighting in the corridors, and an extra ten from Crabbe for doing magic..."

Mike thinks the prefect keeps talking, but as he feels powerful magic steal over his skin, everything else mutes. His unplanned exhaustion starts to fade away, and he peels his eyes open to find Harvey staring down at him. He knows the Slytherin would deny it vehemently, but that's _definitely_ worry in his eyes. Everything has a bit of a green tinge to it, and Mike frowns as Harvey's hand stops just before making contact with him.

 _He's my friend; he's not going to hurt me_ , Mike admonishes the castle silently, and the ward slides reluctantly off his head. He glances down to try to identify the tingling still dancing across his torso and sees a lighter green ward wrapped around his body, holding him against the wall.

"Mike!" Harvey says, obviously not for the first time, slapping his face, and Mike laughs as the same ward that just saved Harvey's life gives him a sharp sting. Harvey scowls at him, rubbing his rapidly reddening palm.

"No, that wasn't me," Mike says, surprised to hear the slur in his voice. "I told the wards you wouldn't hurt me, but then you did. I don't think the castle is very happy with you."

Harvey glares at him. "Never make promises dependent on another person. Or really at all."

"Are you okay?"

The glare turns into a look of total disbelief. "I'm not the one who just wandlessly blocked Fiendfyre!"

"Me neither!" Mike giggles, and the look turns right back into a glare. "No, man, I borrowed one of the castle's wards and made it think there was a wall where there wasn't, and it absorbed the spells for me. What was the other one?"

"There were two spells?" a new voice asks, and Harvey jerks around. Professor Thomas is standing behind them, glaring hard at the first-years. "I only saw the Fiendfyre."

Mike manages to hold back this inappropriate giggle. "Yes, sir. I don't know what it was. Ask Prewett."

"Detention, Prewett and Crabbe," Thomas says mildly. "Never cast spells you can't counter."

"I didn't hit nobody with it!" Crabbe protests, and Harvey just laughs.

"You won't always be casting it at me," he replies simply.

Professor Thomas shoots them a sharp glance, but he doesn't mention the slight deception. "Care to join our class and help demonstrate some shields?" he offers, and Harvey visibly perks up before glancing at Mike, who's still reclining against stone.

"Sorry, Professor, but we're on our way to a study session," he answers regretfully. "Another time?"

Thomas shrugs affably. "I'll hold you to that. Some of your first-years don't seem to think they have anything to learn from the Gryffindor head."

Harvey glares at the Slytherins in the group. "Is that so." Nobody meets his eyes. "I'm sure you regularly disabuse them of that notion. But I'm sure it goes both ways, so I'd be glad to join you next week. Show your lion cubs that snakes can school them, too."

Mike laughs to himself as he nudges the wards away from his body and pushes off the wall. He's never quite understood the respect Harvey has for Dean Thomas, considering he's the Head of a House Harvey has nothing but disdain for.

"Come on, Princess," the prefect grumbles, picking up Mike's bag and herding him down the hall. "Oh, and Prewett? Ten points from you as well."

"You didn't have to do that," Mike says, reaching for his bag. Harvey moves it further away from him, and Mike frowns when his hand comes back empty. "Turning Professor Thomas down, I mean. You should have stayed. I don't need the Hospital Wing or anything. The wards gave me back my magic."

Harvey smirks at him. "I have a study session; weren't you listening? And while I'd normally ditch you now to let you make out with the walls, you're coming with me to this meeting. After that display, he'll want to see you, even if you are still a stupid third-year."

* * *

"Harvey Specter." Harvey's words form a small blue knot on the string of an unfamiliar ward, and the knot slides along the ward until it's out of Mike's sight.

"Oh, man, do you know--"

"Do I look like the kind of person who interrogates people about the details of their wards?" harvey interrupts, and Mike snorts.

"You look exactly like that kind of person."

Harvey glares down at him for a short moment before the door opens. "Time, Mr Specter."

Mike turns to look at the new man and nearly falls over from the bizarre effect. "Whoa. Oh. Um. Wow. God. Whoa. Harvey? Whoa. Um. What?"

"Articulate," Harvey deadpans, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Sir. New developments have encouraged me to force a meeting. Michael Ross."

"No, really, what?"

The man seems to raise an eyebrow, but Mike's not really sure about that, because it's only happening on one of his faces. So. Not some sort of hallucination induced by the weird recharging the Hogwarts wards just gave him. Or, probably not. "And the teachers here speak highly of you," the man remarks cooly, not moving from the doorway. "Care to explain yourself, Mr Specter?"

"Not in the hallway, I don't," Harvey answers, and Mike shifts his incredulous look to his mentor.

"Very well."

Harvey pushes at Mike's shoulder, but he digs in his heels. "Nuh-uh. I'm not going in there with him."

"You won't be going alone," Harvey points out, but Mike shakes his head harder, then gapes as he suddenly recognizes one of the faces in front of them.

"I'm not letting you go in there, either. Not until he stops whatever he's doing to his head!"

Harvey laughs then, a real laugh. "Never seen a glamour charm, rookie?"

"He has two faces! And one of them is supposed to be dead! I'm too young to die!"

The man swears then, loudly. "I'm not going to harm you, but we're not discussing this in the corridor!"

"I'm not going in there!" Mike answers, nearly shrieking. "Does McGonagall know she has some sort of masked zombie intruder? Why aren't the wards reacting to you!" He reaches towards the wall, but Harvey grabs his hand before he can make contact with the comforting green lines.

"You are not doing that twice in one day!"

The man swears again. "That was _him_?"

"You felt that down here?" Mike glares accusingly at the wall. It hadn't felt like it would affect more than the immediate corridor when he'd done it.

"You exploded some very valuable ingredients!"

So, more than the immediate corridor. "Well, it's not like I did it on purpose! Although I totally would have, you know. Circumstances being what they were. Dude, I was saving Harvey's life. Worth it."

"Mike?"

He looks up to see Harvey's eyes fighting amusement. "Yeah?"

"You're an idiot. Also, he's not going to hurt you, and the Headmistress knows both who he is and that he's here. Can we stop yelling in the halls now?"

"No!" Mike shakes his head hard, then hesitates. "Well. Okay. But I'm still not going in there until I hear from the Headmistress herself. So. If you'd like to risk your life with someone who thinks it's funny to wear the face of a dead war hero, have fun. I'll be in the library."

Harvey's hand jerks him back before he takes more than one step. "You can't tell which face is really his?"

"I can figure it out by eliminating everyone who has their name on the war memorial!"

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong," the older boy whispers in his ear. He leans back and looks immensely proud of himself. "Now can we stop sharing secrets in the hall, or shall we start yelling about yours next?"

Mike points at the man. "I want his wand first."

"In the interest of speeding things along, here." The man presents him with a length of pale wood.

"Either that's not your real wand, or you can do wandless magic."

"Both," Harvey answers, and the man glares at him. "Come on, Princess. You said it yourself. The wards aren't reacting to him. And since you're going steady with the castle now, you can always ask for a security blanket if he attacks. Now. In."

Mike stumbles at the unexpectedly hard shove, and he snatches the still-offered wand as he crosses the threshold. Wandless magic is slower for most wizards; he'll take any advantage he's given. The door slams behind Harvey, and he turns on the man. "Finite incantatem!" The glamour charm flickers for a second before stabilizing, but it's long enough for him to see that it really is the war's most famous spy. "Okay, what the fuck."

"He's not dead," Harvey offers, grabbing the pale wand from Mike's slack hand and tossing it back to Snape, who holsters it before pulling out a dark wand to show Mike.

"No shit," Mike snaps, pulling out his own wand when Snape's real wand isn't reholstered. "Which makes me wonder why nobody else knows that."

"Donna knows."

Mike laughs despite himself. "Donna knows everything."

"McG, Sluggy, and Flits all know."

"And Professor Thomas," Snape supplies. "They're all insufferable about it, and now you're holding me at wandpoint. I can hardly see how more people being aware would be an improvement."

"You might not be at wandpoint if you weren't hiding the fact that you're alive. What are you planning?"

Snape actually rolls his eyes before sending a silent expelliarmus towards Mike. He's reaching for the wall again when Harvey barks out, "Protego reflectum!" He freezes with his fingers inches from the wards, admiring the strange blend of green and pink in the shield. The spell shoots back towards Snape, whose wands shoot through the air before landing beside a surprised Harvey

Snape eyes Harvey for a long moment, a look of consideration on his face. "You didn't know what that was," he says finally.

"I figure you can take anything you dish out," he answers. "Sir."

The considering look doesn't waver, and Harvey sighs. "No, I haven't suddenly learned how to detect wordless magic. I saw Mike reacting to an attack and decided to save the wards another disruption."

"It would've only been a little one this time!" Mike protests, shooting a dark glare at Harvey. "I was hardly going to pull the same ward for an expelliarmus as I did for the Fiendfyre. Hogwarts has more than one level of protection."

"The fact that you can manipulate the wards at all is ... unexpected." Snape finally drops the glamour, but Mike doesn't lower his wand or pull his other hand back from its place near the wall. "Do you intend to hex me if I summon the Headmistress?"

Mike considers it for a moment. "I think I'll hex you if you don't," he decides. "No offense, Harvey, but I'd really prefer a second opinion."

"Trust no one," Harvey answers, sounding almost cheerful as he drops into the nearest armchair with Snape's wands dangling from his fingertips. "Sir, you look like shit."

"Thank you," Snape answers dryly, turning towards the fire and removing a jar from the shelf above it. He conjures some flames wandlessly, takes a pinch of Floo powder, and tosses it in. "Minerva, a word, if you would."

The Headmistress spins into view a moment later, and Mike feels a short moment of triumph at her look of shock. "Severus!" The triumph fades quickly as she continues. "You're not wearing your glamour."

"Ross refuses to believe I'm not a threat without your opinion on the matter," Snape summarizes for her. "He has also been tampering with the castle's wards."

"Michael James Ross!"

He hunches his shoulder even as he keeps one eye and his wand firmly fixed on Snape. "I didn't think it would work! And I might have saved Harvey's life, so please don't expel me."

"We will discuss that later. Lower your wand this instant."

His spine straightens. "Not until I have your assurance that you are fully aware of his activities in this school."

She doesn't even hesitate. "I am."

Mike studies her face carefully before lowering his wand, but he doesn't slide it back into its holster.

"Might I have my own wands back now, Mr Specter?"

Harvey shrugs from his casual posture in the armchair. "Figure that might make Mike twitchy again, sir. It's not like you can't defend yourself without them." He spins the lighter wand idly between his fingers, gazing thoughtfully at the Headmistress.


	6. 4th year

One of his earliest memories is of his grandmother doing magic, he realizes with a shock on his 15th birthday. It's all Harvey's fault, as most things are. One of the perks of spending half your time with a Slytherin, really. The boy decided it was a good day to try conjuring tea, but he managed to forget the pot, searing them both with pungent Earl Grey. Mike honestly has no choice but to try a spell he's never done before, because Harvey's howling like a werewolf in labor. So he whips out his wand, closes his eyes for a better look at that page of burn spells, and calls "Sanare Comburet!" Harvey stops yelling almost immediately, sparing only half a glance at his pink arm before lunging for Mike.

"That color," Mike gasps, collapsing against Harvey. "Oh my god."

Harvey tightens his arms around Mike's chest as the younger boy starts to slide downwards. "Too much?" he murmurs, controlling their descent to the floor.

"Gram."

Harvey frowns.

"I've seen that spell before," Mike elaborates, twisting to tuck his face into Harvey's neck. "It's one of my earliest memories; I must have been only a year or two old. She was watching me while my parents were out--" He breaks off suddenly as he realizes this is the first time he's ever mentioned his parents to Harvey, and he wonders why the older boy has never asked him about them. "I climbed out of my bouncy seat on the counter and fell into a pot of boiling water. I always thought I just wasn't remembering it right, because there aren't any burns in my medical record, but she must have healed me."

A quiet rumble echoes through Harvey's chest as he tenses. "You said she was a Muggle."

"I know. Merlin, Harvey, I thought she was a Muggle! Fuck, she lied, she's a witch; why would she lie to me about that?"

Harvey shrugs as the tension bleeds right back out of him, shifts Mike between his legs. "I don't know, rookie, but if she still hasn't said anything ... I wouldn't owl her about it."

* * *

"Stupefy!"

Mike jerks his wand up. "Protego!"

Snape glares at him. "Really, Ross?"

He mentally reviews the last few seconds and realizes he didn't see a spell. "Sorry," he mutters, dropping his arm and stuffing his wand haphazardly into his pocket. "I'm not really ... I mean ... I'll just go."

The door locks audibly before he can so much as turn around. "I don't care about your teenage angst. You wanted to learn from me; you're damn well going to pay attention when I teach you."

"Sorry," he repeats. "Look, Harvey'll be here soon--"

"And the two of you are supposed to train together then. I repeat, I don't care about your teenage angst, but don't let it get him hexed."

Mike shakes his head, hard. "Right. Sorry."

The door unlocks and opens, and Harvey's entrance is accompanied by a rush of vanilla scented air. "Please tell me you know the counterspell for this!" he says loudly as he drops his bag. "Parkinson cornered me again."

"I can hardly counter an unknown spell," Snape replies, smirking meaningfully at Mike.

Mike groans. "Sit," he directs, pointing to the floor in front of him. Harvey frowns but complies. "You really need to keep a shield up any time she's around you."

"Oh, yes, that would be very inconspicuous."

"Modify it, then," Mike says absently as he leans in for a closer look at the reddish spell writhing through Harvey's hair. "Invisible to regular people, tight enough against you that nobody's going to bump into it on accident. I know you're working on specialized shields when I leave, anyway. Just try it."

Harvey huffs but doesn't disagree. "Can you tell what it is?"

"Looks like a variation on the warming charm."

Snape flicks his wand, and the cloying scent is banished from the room. "Next time, I'm locking you in the lab until you figure it out yourself. Tell that girl you're not interested."

"I did!" Mike grins at the pouting face Harvey's directing at him from his position on the floor, sheltered from Snape's gaze by the younger boy's legs. "Hey, maybe you could ask the castle to put up wards around me when she goes sneaking."

"Even if I thought that would work, I wouldn't do it!" He swats Harvey's shoulder. "Get off the floor and start cursing him already."

"Not today," Snape interrupts. "Your shields are frankly dangerous, Ross. You are on the offensive today; Mr Specter will shield you."

Harvey groans but pulls out his wand as he stands. "I hate you," he hisses to Mike. "What's wrong with your shields?"

"I was just a little off earlier. Sorry for the switch," Mike hisses back, throwing up a shield as the first hex speeds towards them, unnoticed by the older boy, "but do your damn job!"

Their usual easy dueling pattern suffers greatly from the role swap, and both boys are sweating just five minutes in, while Snape has actually pulled a book off the shelf and is pretending to read while fighting them. Mike swears under his breath and shoots a barrage of relatively harmless spells to weaken the irritating man's shield. As soon as he sees it crack, before Snape will even be able to feel it, he gathers all of his power and mutters as quietly as he can, "Stupefy!"

The shield changes instantly, taking on the pink hues Mike recognizes as protego reflectum. The shape is unusual, too; when the stunning charm hits, it ricochets high before bouncing off the ceiling and heading back down. The spell will completely miss Harvey's shield at this angle, and there's no time to tell him to move it--

Mike's wand hits the floor with a sharp clatter as he thrusts both hands up, straight at the spell, a wild theory building in the back of his mind. This is originally his magic, and while he knows he can't reabsorb it, it's his, made from his will and his desire to show Snape up, and he can maybe, just maybe....

His hands form a sharp curve, just as the spell reaches them. It lances along the surface of his skin, skimming along the curve and redirecting back towards Snape, who let his shield drop when Mike's wand fell. The spell strikes him in the chest, sending him flying backwards into the wall.

"Merlin's balls!" Harvey shouts, dropping his own wand and grabbing Mike's hands. "What the fuck did you just do?"

"I redirected my spell that he reflected back at a weird angle," Mike says, then looks down at his hands. "Ow." The room smells of burning flesh; it looks like someone took a branding iron to his palms.

"There's a reason wizards use wands!" Harvey yanks Mike to the floor by the wrist and snatching both of their wands. "Sanare medeis," he murmurs, touching the raw line gently with his wandtip before repeating the process on the other hand. "Don't ever handle raw magic with your bare hands!"

Mike stares at the silvery lines still tracing the width of his palms. "The castle's wards didn't hurt me."

"The castle's wards were friendly," Harvey returns.

"That was my own spell!"

"Your own _offensive_ spell! And it's a different kind of magic, you know that. Wards are the least damaging, unless they mean you harm. Merlin, you _idiot_ , I'm going to make you start wearing ward-breakers gloves all the time if you don't stop doing stupid things like this!"

Mike looks up slowly to the naked worry in Harvey's eyes. "Sorry," he whispers, starting to feel like a broken record.

"You need to see Pomfrey," Harvey replies, looking down at Mike's hands. "She can do something about these before they become permanent scars."

"Yeah." They sit in silence for a long moment, Harvey's long fingers still wrapped around Mike's wrists, before Mike glances across the room. "Oh, shit."

Harvey follows his gaze before jumping up. "You really knocked him out," he says with a bit of wonder in his voice. "Ennervate."

Snape groans into wakefulness as Mike blushes. "He dropped his shield when I dropped my wand. I guess he thought I was hit."

"Not exactly--" The odd hoarse rasp cuts off suddenly, and Snape shoves to his feet, looking around the room with an odd sense of urgency. Mike points silently to the wand a few feet away, and the man snatches it up and turns away. The grating voice murmurs an indistinct but long phrase before he turns back towards them, sounding once again like his old self. "Not exactly the way I had intended to teach you this lesson, but never drop your guard until you're sure your opponent is down."

"Are you alright?" Mike asks, unnerved by the changing voice.

"Better than you," Snape snaps, glaring at him. "Get out of here, both of you. Go show Poppy your new battle scars."

* * *

Mike's halfway around the lake when a low hoot catches his attention. Harvey's owl lands carefully on his shoulder, holding one leg at an awkward angle. A small package bangs against his collarbone, and he quickly unties it from her leg. "Thanks, Sehkmet. I'm sorry I didn't bring any treats with me."

She hoots again before taking off. He pulls a note off the top of the package and frowns at Harvey's neat handwriting on the ripped parchment.

_M-  
In case you don't get the hint from S delivering this while you're alone, **this is a secret**. Open alone, don't show anyone outside of training. But don't forget them then.  
-H  
PS: Happy late birthday and happy very early Christmas. Don't expect presents for a couple years._

He tucks the note in his pocket and pulls the wrapping off a dark purple velvet bag. He shoves the paper in another pocket to throw away inside and pulls open the bag's drawstring. Two large gloves fall into his hand, accompanied by a brochure.

_Mardova's Quality Dragon Hide  
These one-of-a-kind, custom-refitting gloves are made of 100% naturally donated dragon hide and are rated for the frequent handling of raw magicks._

Mike stuffs the brochure back in the bag to read later and stares at the gloves. The hide they're made from is that curious blend of leathery and scaly typical of Russian dragons, and the black scales glimmer with the faintest hint of native green magic. He slips them on his hands eagerly and gasps when they resize to fit perfectly. He's pretty sure they cost more than his Gram's house is worth, but they feel amazing. He reaches out to touch a nearby tree and gasps again when he feels the bark as though the gloves weren't even there. He'd swear they were charmed, but he can't see anything on them.

* * *

"They're made specifically for mages," Harvey explains, pointing his wand threateningly at Mike. "Don't you dare lose them. I don't want to think about how many family favors I had to call in to get these on short notice without questions. I'm not doing it again."

Mike rubs his hands together again, grinning. "They're amazing. I just ... wow."

"You're welcome. Now, stretch the clock's ward over the cup."

Mike spares one more grin before turning back his work. Snape's warded several random objects in their practice space and keyed the boys into the room's locks, and Harvey's taken to putting Mike through his paces in the evenings. He's getting better manipulating wards.

"When can we go back to dueling?" he asks as the ward slips over the cup. Harvey shoots a quick hex at the cup before nodding.

"We duel twice a week."

"You know what I mean."

Harvey sighs. "I don't think we can do what you want, rookie. Once you're better, faster with wards when my life isn't in danger, you can start learning to bend spells with your hands, but you'll be working with someone else's magic, so ... not yet."

"Why can't I do my own spells?"

"Have you even tried to touch your wand while wearing those?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there you go."

Mike frowns. "I don't get it."

"What happened when you touched your wand?" Harvey asks, almost patiently.

"Uh, nothing? Well, the second time, nothing."

Harvey looks startled. "Nothing? Unless the gloves are the hide of the same dragon your core came from, that's impossible. What happened the first time?"

Mike flushes. "Um. Well, it's not a dragon heartstring core. My wand, I mean, it's a little weird, okay? It sort of ... apparated, I guess, from one hand to the other for a full minute. It was like it was excited about something."

Harvey blinks slowly. "Your wand apparated."

"It does that sometimes." Mike shrugs. "In classes. If it's sitting on the desk and someone's spell is aimed wrong, my wand will apparate to my bag or the other side of the desk or sometimes into my shoe so it doesn't get hit. Remind me to tell you the story of the day I got it sometime."

"What the _hell_ kind of core did Ollivander give you?" Harvey asks incredulously, and Mike laughs nervously.

"Diricawl feather? It's really old; his father or someone made it. He didn't want to sell it to me, but it was better than any of his creations for me."

"Diricawl feather," Harvey repeats quietly, then sits abruptly on the ground. "The weirdest things happen to you. Okay, I'll talk to Snape after Christmas. Do _not_ mess around with this on your own in the meantime, okay? Not even if I'm around."

"Okay," Mike agrees happily, then impulsively squats next to Harvey and wraps his arms around him. "Thanks, Harvey. You're the best."

Harvey gives him a moment before pushing him off. "Diricawl feather. Honestly."


	7. 5th-6th summer

"Excuse us," Mike says absently, grabbing Harvey's wrist and Apparating them without warning to the Hogwarts gates.

"What the fuck!" Harvey yelps, jerking his hand roughly away. "Michael James Ross!"

He frowns at the wards in front of them. "Yeah, sorry about that, need you here, he likes you better." He reaches out, plucks delicately at a yellow-green strand, and asks the ancient magic nicely. He's already learned that trying to force Hogwarts into anything is the best way not to get what you want. "Here--"

They pop into a dungeon hallway, and Harvey yanks his hand back once again. "Merlin's balls, Mike! Did you really just--"

"Yeah, well, walking would have just wasted time." He knocks on the hidden door and encourages the visitor-identifying ward to hurry the man along. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

"With what?"

The door opens, and Snape eyes them expressionlessly. "He did not," the man forces out, stepping back and holding the door for them to enter.

"Conniving Slytherin bastard!" Mike yells as Snape gestures them onto the couch and pulls out a vial of his potion. "Did you even think about this! Do you see what you've done! I wasn't even going to take all those classes at the NEWT level! Now they're going to expect me to--"

"To leave Hogwarts two years early and attend a university?" Snape smirks, his smooth artificial voice a jarring contrast to the genuine rasp. "Yes, I can see how that's a career-ruining move."

"University?" Harvey stares at them both. Mike shoves the letter still clenched in his hand at his friend. "Merlin, Mike! This is...."

"Record-setting scores across the board, I'm sure."

"Shut up, both of you," Mike moans, burying his face in his hands.

"Ten Ms - whatever that stands for - an O, and an A."

Snape's eyes narrow.

"O in Care of Magical Creatures and A in Potions," Harvey says, and it sounds just a little bit gloating.

"A fifth-year got more NEWTs than you," Mike snaps and immediately regrets it. He looks up, but Harvey isn't returning his gaze. "Sorry. You got more OWLs than I did, though, since apparently _I never took my OWLs_."

"I suppose we'll have to finally give up on you ever being competent at Potions," Snape says mildly, silencing Harvey's retort with a look.

Mike glares at him. "I was _planning_ to drop Potions after OWLs, which you _know_. You _also_ know why I'm so bad at actually making the potions, so you can stuff it. And I can't help that Hagrid wouldn't let me see the upper-level creatures, okay? Books can't provide all the information. Can you believe the Ministry actually tests on those absurd creatures Hagrid breeds? They're not even _in_ books!"

Snape looks vaguely sick at that piece of news. "You still managed an O."

"It's relatively easy to tell them which end is dangerous when _both_ ends could kill me." Mike grins when Harvey shudders at the reminder. "But Snape, come on. What am I going to do next year if I've already taken my NEWTs? I guess I could request Alchemy and continue my independent study in Theory--"

"Did you happen to open the rest of your mail before you stormed the castle?"

"I didn't _storm_ \--"

Harvey snorts. "You broke the Anti-Apparition ward; I think that counts as storming."

"I didn't _break_ it! I just asked politely if it would consider making an exception."

"You asked--" Harvey rolls his eyes. "I can't decide if being friends with a mage is totally awesome or a bigger headache than it's worth."

"Your mail, Mr Ross."

Mike flushes. "Sorry. No, I don't think I got anything else, why?"

"If the castle is still making exceptions, feel free to go collect the rest of your mail. Mr Specter's as well."

Mike sends another glare around the room for good measure before cracking away. He mutters an apology at Harvey's mum while he gathers the rest of the mail from the breakfast table and Apparates back to Snape's quarters before she can question him further.

"Here's Harvey's results," he says, passing them to Snape despite his friend's indignant noise. "Oh, hey, you've got a letter from the Auror Academy, Oxford, Cambridge, Aberdeen, and Edinburgh." He drops the university letters into Harvey's outstretched hands and collapses onto the couch beside him. "And so do I."

"Is that all?" Snape is watching Mike closely, ignoring Harvey's NEWTs for the moment.

"Glasgow. St Andrews. Dublin. Harvard ... but that's American!"

Snape shrugs for the first time in Mike's memory. The typically-casual gesture looks studied and awkward on the man. "If you'd prefer somewhere different, I can arrange for your scores to be sent anywhere. I had assumed you would prefer one of Mr Specter's selections, but it's to your benefit to be aware of all your options."

Harvey taps Mike's knee. "Oxford says they'll waive all fees and give you a monthly stipend."

"As all the others do, I should think. Your own letters probably offer a fee waiver as well, Mr Specter."

"Did you--"

"I only sent the recommendation letter you requested." Snape smirks. "The only meddling I did was with Mr Ross."

Harvey nudges Mike with his elbow. "The bloody American university has the same offer. What do you say?"

Mike pulls his feet up onto the couch and leans against Harvey's side. "You're both daft. I can't go to Harvard."

"The others, though. Close enough you could visit your Gram - not to mention me - any time."

He leans harder, lets his eyes close. "I can't ... I'm too young for university."

"You are far too intelligent for Hogwarts. Rather, too extensively educated. Classes here have no more to offer you."

"The library--"

"Is quite good, but university libraries are better."

"You're both daft."

He feels Harvey's fingers run through his hair gently. "You don't have to decide now, rookie. You have time."

Snape hums quietly. "All of your professors are aware that you took NEWTs instead of OWLs. They'll be overjoyed to hear of your successes and offer endless, probably contradictory advice."

"Alright." Mike opens his eyes again and looks up at Harvey. "I think ... I mean, can we go visit Gram now?"

Harvey flicks his wand to gather their mail into his pocket. "Yeah, sure. Just let me owl Mum on the way so she doesn't worry."

"Congratulations on your own not-unimpressive scores, Mr Specter. You've done your House proud."

"Standing next to anyone other than boy genius here." Harvey grins down at Mike.

"Oh, God." Mike pulls his scores out of Harvey's pocket. "Here. You share this so they can all get the gushing over with before I need coherent advice."

Snape takes it with another reassuring smirk. "I'll be sure to take all the credit for your brilliance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end! following chapters are focused on others & take place through the time of this story & earlier, though none take place after this chapter.


	8. Donna snippets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a few small snippets focused on Donna Paulsen

_Early September, 2009_

"Sit. Stay." Jessica glares hard at the boy, who glares back just as much. "Donna, don't let him wander off." She leaves the library without a backwards glance, and Donna raises an eyebrow at the newcomer.

"First year Slytherin," she muses out loud. "Jessica's mentee?" The boy turns the glare on her, which she takes to be agreement. "Harvey Specter. Pure-blood, but not from a Sacred family. Youngest in the year, which makes you the youngest in the school this year. Bit desperate to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Harvey's glare doesn't falter, but it turns more assessing.

"You're as transparent as a Gryffindor. Slytherin will eat you alive if you don't change that."

The glare disappears immediately, leaving a pleasant mask of feigned interest. "Is that so?"

Donna smiles. "So, something about Jessica gets under your skin enough to make you forget what was probably a part of your pureblood upbringing. And she's dumped you on me to fix." She rolls her eyes.

"You're a Ravenclaw halfblood," Harvey says disdainfully. "What could you possibly teach me that being raised in a Slytherin family couldn't?"

Donna smirks. "Oh, sweetie. The things you don't know about me could fill a book."

* * *

_October 2010_

Ravenclaw has Potions with Slytherin in their second year, and Donna ends up paired with Harvey. Slughorn keeps his distance from both of them, leaving them free to do what-the-hell-ever when the potion of the day doesn't demand their attention.

"You never follow the directions," Harvey says, irritated. "Why can you never follow the directions."

"The directions aren't wrong, but they aren't right, either," she answers calmly, dicing the shrivelfig he just finished slicing. "Increased surface area will speed the reaction without any negative side effects in most potions. Excuse me if I'd rather escape the glare of The Collector sooner rather than later."

Harvey pulls a face. "He seems to think my ancestry is enough reason to collect me."

She shrugs. "And mine is reason enough not to collect me."

He hesitates, and she prods his arm to make him drop the newt eyes into the cauldron. "I thought he didn't care about blood status."

"He cares where people's parents sided, in the war. Like we had anything to do with it." She slams her knife point-first into the table and roughly tosses the shrivelfig in, pressing the stirring rod into Harvey's hand. "Clockwise."

"What was your mother's maiden name?"

Donna relaxes a small bit. "Greengrass."

"Neutral family with a few Dark. Not as many Dark as my family, and he still wants me."

She can feel him deliberately not-asking, and she doesn't hesitate before smirking at him. "It's because you're so damn pretty."

* * *

_1 December 2011_

"I thought Binns was supposed to still be easy this year," Teddy groans, dropping a pile of books onto the table beside Donna.

She huffs a loud breath. "Tell me about it. If I'd known how much work he'd have us doing, I wouldn't have signed up for three extra classes this year."

"Merlin, me too, but Grandmum thought Muggle Studies was important, and I wasn't going to sacrifice Arithmancy or Ancient Runes. But we're Ravenclaws, yeah? Or those of us who matter are." He grins at Donna and shoots a quick smirk across the table at Harvey, who rolls his eyes in return. "It's just this particular assignment. Ugh."

"What's hard about this assignment?" Harvey asks, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh, I don't know. Both my parents are dead. One was a werewolf, disowned by his family when he was 16, which disqualifies that whole side of the family from the assignment. Grandmum was disowned, too, which takes out the Black family. I could do Grandpa Ted, but Grandmum won't talk about him, and Harry didn't really know him, so..." Teddy shrugs. "So I'm looking up my own grandfather in the history books. And if that fails, I'll have to argue for special dispensation to do someone outside my family tree, since I'm not Muggleborn. Who are you doing?"

Harvey has the grace to look slightly apologetic for a minute. "Maybe you can do Harry Potter, though, if he's your proper godfather and not just in name. I'm doing my uncle Xavier, Auror who caught Rowle and Dolohov after the war."

Donna slams her books shut. "Fabulous," she snarls. Harvey grabs her arm as she stands up and pulls her back into her chair.

"What?"

She shakes his hand off but stays in her chair. "You can share your essay with me, then, Specter. Oh, no, wait, we're not allowed to write about our parents, even if we never met the bastards." Her eyes flick over to Teddy. "Sorry, Lupin."

Teddy just frowns at her. "Which one?"

She shuts her eyes and slumps in her chair. "Think about it. Consider the two people I'm sharing a table with, and go for maximum irony."

"Dolohov."

"Got it in one."

"What's going on, now?" Harvey asks, looking between them.

Donna doesn't open her eyes or turn towards him. "My dad killed his dad, and your uncle killed him. And that's why Sluggy doesn't want me in his little club; I know you've been wondering since last year."

"You let me think you were a halfblood," Harvey says, sounding surprisingly accusing.

"Yeah, well, Robert Paulsen adopted me when I was three years old. Antonin Dolohov was ... an unwanted sperm donor. I certainly don't intend to claim the family Wizengamot seat when the current patriarch dies, but Binns insists I use the Dolohov family tree for this bloody assignment." She stands up again, eyes her things, then walks out without so much as packing her bag. The boys don't stop her.

* * *

"You're not your dad," Teddy says that night in the Common Room when he returns her neatly-packed bag. She shrugs. "You're not."

"He's not my dad. Not really."

Teddy smiles sadly. "Alright, then. You're not like your 'unwanted sperm donor.' I haven't actually met your dad, so there's not a whole lot I can say on that subject."

"He took me fishing every weekend for a year when I was six," she says. "He's a Hufflepuff at heart, even if he isn't a wizard."

"Hufflepuff father, Slytherin mother. You really are the best of both of them, Donna Paulsen."

She smiles then, still looking a little worse for the wear. "Thanks, Ted."

* * *

_2 December 2011_

She supposes she should be grateful for the owl at dinner; it wasn't long ago that Harvey would cancel plans with her without even telling her. Teddy's still planning to accompany her to Hogsmeade anyway. They don't need Harvey.

* * *

_7 December 2011_

Harvey passes her a note in Transfiguration, and she slides it into the back of her book as he watches. His shoulders seem to slump as he walks away. She waits until class is over to unfold the small square.

_First year makes a lot more sense now._

Donna rolls her eyes at what might possibly be the most oblique apology in the history of Hogwarts, but she slides in beside him at the Slytherin table for lunch. "Shacklebolt," she says politely to the boy on her other side.

"Paulsen," he replies disinterestedly from behind a book.

"Apology accepted," Donna tells Harvey, just a little bit louder than strictly necessary. He doesn't shoot her a glare, though.

"Good. I have Quidditch practice after dinner, but we should be done by eight if you want to work on the History essay."

She gives him mental points for publicly admitting to apologizing to a Ravenclaw half-blood girl. "Actually, yeah, that'd be good. Oh, and Teddy got permission to do Harry Potter."

Harvey's expression takes on just a hint of pride. "Good."

"So we met with him at the Three Boomsticks for a bit of an interview."

Harvey's jealousy shows, but not nearly as much as his classmates'. "I hope he paid for the Butterbeer."


	9. Harvey snippets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a couple scenes based around Harvey Specter

_september-october 2011_

"Are you _seriously_ trying to avoid me again? Didn't I show you _two_ years ago how well that works out for you?"

Harvey looks up and somehow misses Jessica's face for a minute. The smirk it features when his eyes finally make it that high is enough to make him look back down at his parchment. "Busy," he says, as casually as he can manage, but he can tell by the muffled snort out of Donna that it's not nearly casual enough. He's pretty sure she can't read minds, though. Pretty sure he's safe with that secret.

"Normally I'd take this opportunity to mock you about how obvious you're being--" and dammit, he's not safe at all, she _knows_ , "-- but we have more pressing matters to discuss. Eyes on mine."

And dammit again, but he reacts like a well-trained dog. Jessica smirks even as he puts a little more effort into not blushing. He thought he'd mastered that skill when he was eight years old, but puberty seems to be one enormous setback for him.

The smirk turns abruptly into a glare. "What was your boy doing in the dungeons last night?"

"I … _My_ boy ... You ... What?"

"Articulate as always, Mr Specter. I found Mike Ross in the dungeons after curfew last night. Explain."

Harvey returns her glare. "How is this _remotely_ my fault? Ask him! And for the record, he's not my boy. He's not my _anything_."

"I don't care if it's your fault. It's your problem now. Fix it." She turns to leave, and Harvey stands abruptly.

"Jessica! Seriously, what the fuck?"

She turns back and puts on her patient face, knowing full well how much he hates it. "As his mentor, his actions reflect on you. And as your mentor, what reflects on you ultimately reflects on me."

He flops back into his chair. "Another of your future-Head-Girl fits, then. Fine, I'll talk to him."

* * *

_Saturday, 26 November 2011_

Harvey yelps as a hand closes around his wrist and yanks him into a nearby storage room.

"Shut up, it's just me."

He immediately feels himself blushing. Of all the times for Jessica to start holding impromptu meetings in closets.... He forces himself to stop thinking about last night's dream. "Subtle."

She releases his wrist. "Finite incantatum. Lumos. Are you seriously telling me you didn't feel the disillusionment charm?"

"Huh. Thought it was a ghost."

Jessica rolls her eyes. "They don't feel even remotely similar."

"Are you going to continue berating me, or can we get to the point of this before dinner's gone?"

"Daniel Hardman."

Harvey grimaces. "Fifth-year prefect who thinks that just because he's a Gryffindor, nobody will accuse him of being a blood-purist?" He pushes a broom aside and leans back against the castle wall. "Asshole took points off Mike a few days ago for being out late when it wasn't even curfew yet. 'Got to teach them young,' he said as justification."

"Good. I need that memory." Jessica pulls out a small vial and points her wand at Harvey's head.

His wand is out in a second, aimed straight at her heart.

Her wand drops immediately. "Let me rephrase. The Headmistress won't strip him of his position unless she has evidence that he's been abusing it. I was planning to ask you for help finding evidence, but it would be more helpful to have that memory." She holsters her wand and offers him the vial.

Harvey takes it and considers her. "I'll let McGonagall look at it - she has a Pensieve?" When Jessica nods, he continues. "She can see it, but the memory doesn't get out of my sight. I'll put it straight in the Pensieve myself and take it back when she's done."

"I thought we were past this. It's just one memory; even if I somehow forget to give it back to you, it won't kill you."

He slowly lowers his wand and relaxes slightly into the cold stone at his back. "Sometimes I forget you're Muggleborn," he offers quietly. "Arcturus Specter was my great-uncle, the widely acknowledged patriarch of the family and respected member of the Wizengamot, until his sons testified that they joined the Dark Lord on his orders. That he was using his position on the Wizengamot to help Voldemort turn the Ministry. He denied it and was sentenced to Azkaban as a traitor when memories he offered to prove his innocence did anything but. The memories were returned to him, and the thought that he'd actually done those things drove him mad. He killed himself in prison, believing himself Death Eater scum. Years later, someone thought to question his sons under Veritaserum. They'd had his memories modified between donation and viewing to get themselves a shorter sentence.

"There are still people on the side of the so-called Light who think the Specters ought to be taught a lesson, just because of those two cousins who joined the Dark Lord and lied about Arcturus's involvement. And the Death Eaters may have all been put in Azkaban, but there are still sympathizers out there who wouldn't hesitate to attack me for my uncle's help in putting them away. Just because the war is officially over doesn't mean my family can let our guard down. I will threaten anyone who draws a wand on me or mine, and I won't ever let anyone do to me what was done to him.”

* * *

_spring 2013_

"Harvey, Ms Paulsen, if both of you could remain for just a moment?"

Harvey exchanges a look with his lab partner, who looks completely unsurprised by the request, though he knows better. There would have been no look if she hadn't been taken aback, and she's the one who perfected his poker face three years ago. Professor Slughorn still doesn't like her, and Shacklebolt's on his way out the door, so it can't be anything to do with the Slug Club.

"Certainly, sir," he answers for the both of them, replacing his bag on the tabletop and turning to face the potions professor. "What can we do for you?"

"Yes, well, now, you see..." Slughorn delays as the last of the other students file out of the classroom and flicks a quick eavesdropping charm at the door. "I have a private offer to convey to you on the behalf of someone who would prefer to remain anonymous until a decision has been made."

"Not interested," he and Donna answer in unison, and Slughorn huffs loudly.

"Now see here!" he starts, but Harvey interrupts him.

"Sir, any offer that remains unknown until agreed upon is an offer no Slytherin worth his salt will ever take."

Slughorn frowns. "It's not unknown. A potions master is offering the two of you private tutoring, starting next year."

"An unknown master," Donna interjects. "No, thank you."

"He values his privacy! Surely a Ravenclaw wouldn't judge such a knowledgable man based on that."

"Ravenclaws value knowledge, but not to the point of stupidity." She turns towards the door, scooping up her bag as she passes their table.

"Donna," Harvey calls, and she pauses.

"Coming?"

He smirks at her, and she sighs.

"Care to share with the class?"

Harvey turns back to Slughorn, who is watching the two of them in completely undisguised interest. "Professor. Please pass along a message for me: We would be willing to meet with this man and discuss the offer, provided you are also present."

* * *

He notices the faint shimmer around the man as soon as he looks at him. "Take off the glamour," he requests calmly, and Donna shoots him a surprised look from her steadfastly upright position by the door.

"No."

Harvey stands up and inclines his head slightly at the stranger. "Then I regret that you went to the trouble of traveling to the castle."

"Harvey, my boy!"

He waves a dismissive hand at Slughorn, noting with interest that the stranger does the same.

"How did you know about the glamour?"

"Gordon Specter would hardly let his heir leave home without proper preparation." And that's true enough. His father taught him several spells before Hogwarts that reverse glamour charms and reveal Polyjuice. Of course, it wasn't until Mike and his irritating habit of pointing out concealed doorways and picture frames that he'd learned how to detect glamours in the first place, but he's hardly going to tell a disguised stranger.

"And why haven't you forcibly removed it?"

Harvey smirks. "You have given me no reason to do so. While the glamour's presence precludes any sort of working relationship, I have no desire to make enemies today. Good day, sir."


	10. Rachel snippet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a small scene about Rachel Zane

She's just got through checking her trunk to be sure everything made it into her dorm when an older girl shows up in the room, one the Prefect had introduced as a third-year. Rachel can't remember her name, but the girl is watching her with slightly narrowed eyes.

"All of you, out," she says commandingly, and the other girls grumble but do as they're told. "You. Zane." She shuts the door behind her.

"Rachel."

The girl waves a dismissing hand and perches on Danielle's bed. "Why are you here?"

Rachel blinks. "Because I was sorted into Ravenclaw?"

"Why are you at Hogwarts?"

She sighs. "What business is it of yours?"

The girl grins. "I'm Donna. Everything is my business. You'll catch on eventually. You'll even be grateful for it, sooner or later. Now. Spill."

"Hogwarts is one of the best Wizarding schools in the world," Rachel hedges, and Donna glares at her.

"Be that as it may, Durmstrang is not a weak school by any measure."

"I live in London. That's typically Hogwarts space."

"Since when? Because last I checked, Robert Zane was Headmaster of Durmstrang, and that's nowhere near London."

Rachel sighs again. "Look, Donna, would you want to go to a school where your father was the Head? And have everyone constantly talking about your grades or your privileges like you didn't really earn them?"

Donna's face freezes so suddenly that Rachel wonders if the curious expression were ever real. "Theoretical. And moot. But ... your point is taken." She stands and spins on her heel, leaving the room without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the actual end of this AU! Do please feel free to write more & tell me about it - I'd love to read it! I just am done writing it.


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